“Are you going to give me an answer?” Alleyn said at last.
“I–I—don’t — think — I did actually — just after — she was…” A look of profound astonishment came into Richard’s face. He crumpled into a faint at Alleyn’s feet.
“He’ll do,” Dr. Harkness said, relinquishing Richard’s pulse. He straightened up and winced a little in the process. “You say he’s been walking about on an empty stomach and two or three drinks. The shock coming on top of it did the trick for him, I expect. In half an hour he won’t be feeling any worse than I do and that’s medium to bloody awful. Here he comes.”
Richard had opened his eyes. He stared at Dr. Harkness and then frowned. “Lord, I’m sorry,” he said. “I passed out, didn’t I?”
“You’re all right,” Dr. Harkness said. “Where’s this sal volatile, Gracefield?”
Gracefield presented it on a tray. Richard drank it down and let his head fall back. They had put him on a sofa there in the drawing-room. “I was talking to somebody,” he said. “That man — God, yes! Oh God.”
“It’s all right,” Alleyn said, “I won’t worry you. We’ll leave you to yourself for a bit.”
He saw Richard’s eyes dilate. He was looking past Alleyn towards the door. “Yes,” he said loudly. “I’d rather be alone.”
“What is all this?”
It was Warrender. He shut the door behind him and went quickly to the sofa. “What the devil have you done to him? Dicky, old boy…”
“No!” Richard said with exactly the same inflexion as before. Warrender stood above him. For a moment, apparently, they looked at each other. Then Richard said, “I forgot that letter you gave me to post. I’m sorry.”
Alleyn and Fox moved, but Warrender anticipated them, stooping over Richard and screening him.
“If you don’t mind,” Richard said, “I’d rather be by myself. I’m all right.”
“And I’m afraid,” Alleyn pointed out, “that I must remind you of instructions, Colonel Warrender. I asked you to stay with the others. Will you please go back to them?”
Warrender stood like a rock for a second or two and then, without another word, walked out of the room. On a look from Alleyn, Fox followed him.
“We’ll leave you,” Alleyn said. “Don’t get up.”
“No,” Dr. Harkness said. “Don’t. I’ll ask them to send you in a cup of tea. Where’s that old Nanny of yours? She can make herself useful. Can you find her, Gracefield?”
“Very good, sir,” Gracefield said.
Alleyn, coolly picking up Richard’s dispatch case, followed Gracefield into the hall.
“Gracefield.”
Gracefield, frigid, came to a halt.
“I want one word with you. I expect this business has completely disorganized your household and I’m afraid it can’t be helped. But I think it may make things a little easier in your department if you know what the form will be.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“In a little while a mortuary van will come. It will be better if we keep everybody out of the way at that time. I don’t want to worry Mr. Templeton more than I can help, but I shall have to interview people and it would suit us all if we could find some place that would serve as an office for the purpose. Is that possible?”
“There is Mr. Richard’s old study, sir, on the first floor. It is unoccupied.”
“Splendid. Where exactly?”
“The third on the right along the passage, sir.”
“Good.” Alleyn glanced at the pallid and impassive face. “For your information,” he said, “it’s a matter of clearing up the confusion that unfortunately always follows accidents of this sort. The further we can get, now, the less publicity at the inquest. You understand?”
“Quite so, sir,” said Gracefield with a slight easing of manner.
“Very well. And I’m sorry you’ll be put to so much trouble.”
Gracefield’s hand curved in classic acceptance. There was a faint crackle.
“Thank you, Gracefield.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” said Gracefield. “I will inform Mrs. Plumtree and then ascertain if your room is in order.” He inclined his head and mounted the stairs.
Alleyn raised a finger and the constable by the front door came to him.
“What happened,” he asked, “about Mr. Dakers? As quick and complete as you can.”
“He arrived, sir, about three minutes after you left your instructions, according to which I asked for his name and let on it was because of an accident. He took it up it was something about a car. He didn’t seem to pay much attention. He was very excited and upset. He went upstairs and was there about eight to ten minutes. You and Mr. Fox were with the two gentlemen and the lady in that little room, sir. When he came down he had a case in his hand. He went to the door to go out and I advised him it couldn’t be done. He still seemed very upset, sir, and that made him more so. He said, ‘Good God, what is all this?’ and went straight to the room where you were, sir.”
“Good. Thank you. Keep going.”
“Sir,” said the constable.
“And Philpott.”
“Sir?”
“We’ve sent for another man. In the meantime I don’t want any of the visitors in the house moving about from room to room. Get them all together in the drawing-room and keep them there, including Colonel Warrender and Mr. Templeton, if he’s feeling fit enough. Mr. Dakers can stay where he is. Put the new man on the door and you keep observation in the dining-room. We can’t do anything about the lavatory, I suppose, but everywhere else had better be out of bounds. If Colonel Warrender wants to go to the lavatory, you go with him.”
“Sir.”
“And ask Mr. Fox to join me upstairs.”
The constable moved off.
A heavy thumping announced the descent of Old Ninn. She came down one step at a time. When she got to the bottom of the stairs and saw Alleyn she gave him a look and continued on her way. Her face was flaming and her mouth drawn down. For a small person she emanated an astonishingly heavy aura of the grape.
“Mrs. Plumtree?” Alleyn asked.
“Yes,” said Old Ninn. She halted and looked into his face. Her eyes, surprisingly, were tragic.
“You’re going to look after Mr. Richard, aren’t you?”
“What’s he been doing to himself?” she asked, as if Richard had been playing roughly and had barked his knee.
“He fainted. The doctor thinks it was shock.”
“Always takes things to heart,” Old Ninn said.
“Did you bring him up?”
“From three months.” She continued to look fixedly at Alleyn. “He was a good child,” she said, as if he was abusing Richard, “and he’s grown into a good man. No harm in him and never was.”
“An orphan?” Alleyn ventured.
“Father and mother killed in a motor accident.”
“How very sad.”
“You don’t,” Old Ninn said, “feel the want of what you’ve never had.”
“And of course Miss Bellamy — Mrs. Templeton — took him over.”
“She,” Old Ninn said, “was a different type of child altogether. If you’ll excuse me I’ll see what ails him.” But she didn’t move at once. She said very loudly, “Whatever it is it’ll be no discredit to him,” and then stumped heavily and purposefully on to her charge.
Alleyn waited for a moment, savouring her observations. There has been one rather suggestive remark, he thought.
Dr. Harkness came out of the drawing-room, looking very wan.
“He’s all right,” he said, “and I wish I could say as much for myself. The secondary effects of alcoholic indulgence are the least supportable. By the way, can I go out to the car for my bag? It’s just opposite the house. Charles Templeton’s my patient, you know, and I’d like to run him over. Just in case. He’s had a bad knock over this.”