“Nor do the guilty, when they’ve dumped the evidence.”
Leonard ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. “Fair enough,” he said. “So what?”
“Mr. Leiss,” Alleyn said, “the cigarette case has been found.”
A second flickered past before Leonard, in a tone of righteous astonishment said: “Found! Well, I ask you! Found! So why come at me? Where?”
“In my opinion, exactly where you dropped it. Down the drain.”
The door was thrust open. On the far side of the screen a feminine voice said: “Sorry, darling, but you’ll have to rouse up.” The door was shut. “We are in a spot of bother,” the voice continued as its owner came round the screen. “Old Cartell, dead as a doornail and down the drain!”
When Moppett saw Alleyn she clapped her hands to her mouth and eyed him over the top.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “Auntie Con thought you’d gone.”
She was a dishevelled figure, half saved by her youth and held together in a négligé that was as unfresh as it was elaborate. “Isn’t it frightful?” she said. “Poor Uncle Hal! I can’t believe it!”
Either she was less perturbed than Leonard or several times tougher. He had turned a very ill colour and had jerked cigarette ash across his chest.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said.
“Didn’t you know?” Moppett exclaimed, and then to Alleyn, “Haven’t you told him?”
“Miss Ralston,” Alleyn said, “you have saved me the trouble. It is Miss Ralston, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Sorry,” Moppett went on after a moment, “if I’m interupting something. I’ll sweep myself out, shall I? See you, ducks,” she added in Cockney to Leonard.
“Don’t go, if you please,” said Alleyn. “You may be able to help us. Can you tell me where you and Mr. Leiss lost Mr. Period’s cigarette case?”
“No, she can’t,” Leonard intervened. “Because we didn’t. We never had it. We don’t know anything about it.”
Moppett opened her eyes very wide and her mouth slightly. She turned in fairly convincing bewilderment from Leonard to Alleyn.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “P.P.’s cigarette case? Do you mean the old one he showed us when we lunched with him?”
“Yes,” Alleyn agreed. “That’s the one I mean.”
“Lenny, darling, what did happen to it, do you remember? I know! We left it on the window sill. Didn’t we? In the dining-room?”
“O.K., O.K., like I’ve been telling the Chief Godal-mighty High Commissioner,” Leonard said and behind his alarm, his fluctuating style and his near-Americanisms, there flashed up an unrepentant barrow-boy. “So now it’s been found. So what?”
“It’s been found,” Alleyn said, “in the open drain a few inches from Mr. Cartell’s body.”
Leonard seemed to retreat into himself. It was as if he shortened and compressed his defenses.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He shot a glance at Moppett. “That’s a very nasty suggestion, isn’t it? I don’t get the picture.”
“The picture will emerge in due course. A minute or two ago,” Alleyn said, “you told me I was welcome to search this room. Do you hold to that?”
Leonard went through the pantomime of inspecting his fingernails but gave it up on finding his hands were unsteady.
“Naturally,” he murmured. “Like I said. Nothing to hide.”
“Good. Please don’t go, Miss Ralston,” Alleyn continued as Moppett showed some sign of doing so. “I shan’t be long.”
He had moved over to the wardrobe and opened the door when he felt a touch on his arm. He turned and there was Moppett, smelling of scent, hair and bed, gazing into his face, unmistakably palpitating.
“I won’t go, of course,” she said opening her eyes very wide, “if you don’t want me to, but you can see, can’t you, that I’m not actually dressed for the prevailing climate? It’s a trifle chilly, this morning, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure Mr. Leiss will lend you his dressing-gown.”
It was a brocade and velvet affair and lay across the foot of the bed. She put it on.
“Give us a fag, ducks,” she said to Leonard.
“Help yourself.”
She reached for his case. “It’s not one of those…?” she began and then stopped short. “Fanks, ducks,” she said and lit a cigarette, lounging across the bed.
The room grew redolent of Virginian tobacco.
The wardrobe doors were lined with looking-glass. In them Alleyn caught a momentary glimpse of Moppett leaning urgently towards Leonard and of Leonard baring his teeth at her. He mouthed something and closed his hand over her wrist. The cigarette quivered between her fingers. Leonard turned his head as Alleyn moved the door and their images swung out of sight.
Alleyn’s fingers slid into the pockets of Leonard’s checked suit, dinner suit and camel’s-hair overcoat. They discovered three greasy combs, a pair of wash-leather gloves, a membership card from a Soho club called La Hacienda, a handkerchief, loose change, a pocketbook and finally, in the evening trousers and the overcoat, the object of their search: strands of cigarette tobacco. He withdrew a thread and sniffed at it. Turkish. The hinges of Mr. Period’s case, he had noticed, were a bit loose.
He came out from behind the wardrobe door with the garments in question over his arm. Moppett, who now had her feet up, exclaimed with a fair show of gaitey: “Look, Face, he’s going to valet you.”
Alleyn said: “I’d like to borrow these things for the moment. I’ll give you a receipt, of course.”
“Like hell you will,” Leonard ejaculated.
“If you object, I can apply for a search warrant”
“Darling, don’t be bloody-minded,” Moppett said. “After all, what does it matter?”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Leonard mumbled through bleached lips. “That’s what I object to. People break in without a word of warning and start talking about bodies and — and—”
“And false pretenses. And attempted fraud. And theft,” Alleyn put in. “As you say, it’s the principal of the thing. May I borrow these garments?”
“O.K., O.K., O.K.”
“Thank you.”
Alleyn laid the overcoat and dinner suit across a chair and then went methodically through a suitcase and the drawers of a tallboy: there, wrapped in a sock, he came upon a flick-knife. He turned, with it in his hand, and found Leonard staring at him.
“This,” Alleyn said, “is illegal. Where did you get it?”
“I picked it up,” Leonard said, “in the street. Illegal, is it? Fancy.”
“I shall take care of it.”
Leonard whispered something to Moppett, who laughed immoderately and said: “Oh, Lord!” in a manner that contrived to be disproportionately offensive.
Alleyn then sat at a small desk in a corner of the room. He removed Leonard’s pocketbook from his dinner jacket and examined the contents, which embraced five pounds in notes and a photograph of Miss Ralston in the nude. They say that nothing shocks a police officer, but Alleyn found himself scandalized. He listed the contents of the pocketbook and wrote a receipt for them, which he handed, with the pocketbook, to Leonard.
“I don’t expect to be long over this,” he said. “In the meantime I should like a word with you, if you please, Miss Ralston.”
“What for?” Leonard interposed quickly, and to Moppett: “You don’t have to talk to him.”
“Darling,” Moppett said. “Manners! And I’ll have you know I’m simply dying to talk to the — Inspector, is it? Or Super? I’m sure it’s Super. Do we withdraw?”