“ ‘Vassy’? ‘Vass’?”
“Vassily, really. I call him Vass. Mr. Conducis.”
TEN
Monday
As Fox and Alleyn left the flat in Cheyne Walk they encountered in the downstairs entrance a little old man in a fusty overcoat and decrepit bowler. He seemed to be consulting a large envelope.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, touching the brim of the bowler, “but can you tell me if a lady be-the-namer Meade resides in these apartments? It seems to be the number but I can’t discover a name board or indication of any sort.”
Fox told him and he was much obliged.
When they were in the street Alleyn said: “Did you recognize him?”
“I had a sort of notion,” Fox said, “that I ought to. Who is he? He looks like a bum.”
“Which is what he is. He’s a Mr. Grimball who, twenty years ago and more, was the man in possession at the Lampreys.”
“God bless my soul!” Fox said. “Your memory!”
“Peregrine Jay did tell us that the Meade’s a compulsive gambler, didn’t he?”
“Well, I’ll be blowed! Fancy that! On top of all the other lot—in Queer Street. Wonder if Mr. Conducis—”
Fox continued in a series of scandalized ejaculations.
“We’re not due with Conducis for another hour and a half,” Alleyn said. “Stop clucking and get into the car. We’ll drive to the nearest box and ring the Yard in case there’s anything.”
“About the boy?”
“Yes. Yes. About the boy. Come on.”
Fox returned from the telephone box in measured haste.
“Hospital’s just rung through,” he said. “They think he’s coming round.”
“Quick as we can,” Alleyn said to the driver, and in fifteen minutes, with the sister and house-surgeon in attendance, they walked round the screens that hid Trevor’s bed in the children’s casualty ward at St Terence’s.
P.C. Grantley had returned to duty. When he saw Alleyn he hurriedly vacated his chair and Alleyn slipped into it.
“Anything?”
Grantley showed his notebook.
“It’s a pretty glove,” Alleyn read, but it doesn’t warm my hand. Take it off.”
“He said that?”
“Yes, sir. Nothing else, sir. Just that.”
“It’s a quotation from his part.”
Trevor’s eyes were closed and he breathed evenly. The sister brushed back his curls.
“He’s asleep,” the doctor said. “We must let him waken in his own time. He’ll probably be normal when he does.”
“Except for the blackout period?”
“Quite.”
Ten minutes slipped by in near silence.
“Mum,” Trevor said. “Hey, Mum.”
He opened his eyes and stared at Alleyn. “What’s up?” he asked and then saw Grantley’s tunic. “That’s a rozzer,” he said. “I haven’t done a thing.”
“You’re all right,” said the doctor. “You had a nasty fall and we’re looking after you.”
“Oh,” Trevor said profoundly and shut his eyes.
“Gawd, he’s off again,” Grantley whispered, distractedly. “Innit marvellous.”
“Now then,” Fox said austerely.
“Pardon, Mr. Fox.”
Alleyn said, “May he be spoken to?”
“He shouldn’t be worried. If it’s important—”
“It could hardly be more so.”
“Nosey Super,” Trevor said, and Alleyn turned back to find himself being stared at.
“That’s right,” he said. “We’ve met before.”
“Yeah. Where though?”
“In The Dolphin. Upstairs in the circle.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said, wanly tough. A look of doubt came into his eyes. He frowned. “In the circle,” he repeated uneasily.
“Things happen up there in the circle, don’t they?”
Complacency and still that look of uncertainty.
“Yon can say that again,” said Trevor. “All over the house.”
“Slash?”
“Yeah. Slash,” he agreed and grinned.
“You had old Jobbins guessing?”
“And that’s no error.”
“What did you do?”
Trevor stretched his mouth and produced a wailing sound: “Wheeeee.”
“Make like spooks,” he said. “See?”
“Anything else?”
There was a longish pause. Grantley lifted his head. Somewhere beyond the screens a trolley jingled down the ward.
“Ping.”
“That must have rocked them.” Alleyn said.
“ ’Can say that again. What a turn-up! Oh, dear!”
“How did you do it? Just like that? With your mouth?”
The house-surgeon stirred restively. The sister gave a starched little cough.
“Do you mind,” Trevor said. “My mum plays the old steely,” he added, and then, with a puzzled look: “Hey! Was that when I got knocked out or something! Was it?”
“That was a bit later. You had a fall. Can you remember where you went after you banged the stage-door?”
“No,” he said impatiently. He sighed and shut his eyes. “Do me a favour and pack it up, will you?” he said and went to sleep again.
“I’m afraid that’s it,” said the house-surgeon.
Alleyn said : “May I have a word with you?”
“Oh, certainly. Yes, of course. Carry on, Sister, will you? He’s quite all right”
Alleyn said, “Stick it out, Grantley.”
The house-surgeon led him into an office at the entrance to the ward. He was a young man and, although he observed a markedly professional attitude, he was clearly intrigued by the situation.
“Look here,” Alleyn said, “I want you to give me your cold-blooded, considered opinion. You tell me the boy is unlikely to remember what happened just before he went overboard. I gather he may recall events up to within a few minutes of the fall?”
“He may, yes. The length of the ‘lost’ period can vary.”
“Did you think he was on the edge of remembering a little further just now?”
“One can’t say. One got the impression that he hadn’t the energy to try and remember.”
“Do you think that if he were faced with the person whom he saw attacking the caretaker, he would recognize him and remember what he saw?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a specialist in amnesia or the after-effects of cranial injury. You should ask someone who is.” The doctor hesitated and then said slowly: “You mean would the shock of seeing the assailant stimulate the boy’s memory?”
“Not of the assault upon himself but of the earlier assault upon Jobbins which may be on the fringe of his recollection—which may lie just this side of the blackout.”
“I can’t give you an answer to that one.”
“Will you move the boy into a separate room—say tomorrow—and allow him to see three—perhaps four—visitors: one after another? For five minutes each.”
“No. I’m sorry. Not yet.”
“Look,” Alleyn said, “can it really do any harm? Really?”
“I have not the authority.”
“Who has?”
The house-surgeon breathed an Olympian name.
“Is he in the hospital? Now?”
The house-surgeon looked at his watch.
“There’s been a board meeting. He may be in his room.”
“I’ll beard him there. Where is it?”
“Yes, but look here—”
“God bless my soul,” Alleyn ejaculated. “I’ll rant as well as he. Lead me to him.”
“Ten past four,” Alleyn said, checking with Big Ben. “Let’s do a bit of stocktaking.” They had returned to the car.
“You got it fixed up for this show with the boy, Mr. Alleyn?”
“Oh, yes. The great panjandrum turned out to be very mild and a former acquaintance. An instance, I’m afraid, of Harry Grove’s detested old-boymanship. I must say I see Harry’s point. We went to the ward and he inspected young Trevor who was awake, as bright as a button, extremely full of himself and demanding a nice dinner. The expert decided in our favour. We may arrange the visits for tomorrow at noon. Out of visiting hours. We’ll get Peregrine Jay to call the actors and arrange the timetable. I don’t want us to come into it at this juncture. We’ll just occur at the event. Jay is to tell them the truth: that the boy can’t remember what happened and that it’s hoped the encounters with the rest of the cast may set up some chain of association that could lead to a recovery of memory.”