Death in a White Tie

DEATH OF LORD ROBERT GOSPELL

Tragic end to a distinguished career

Suspicious Circumstances

Lady Mildred Potter beat her plump hands on the proofs of the Evening Chronicle obituary notice and turned upon Alleyn a face streaming with tears.

‘But who could have wanted to hurt Bunchy, Roderick? Everyone adored him. He hadn’t an enemy in the world. Look what the Chronicle says—and I must say I think it charming of them to let me see the things they propose to say about him—but look what it says. “Beloved by all his friends!” And so he was. So he was. By all his friends.’

‘He must have had one enemy, Mildred,’ said Alleyn.

‘I can’t believe it. I’ll never believe it. It must be an escaped lunatic.’ She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes and sobbed violently. ‘I shall never be able to face all this dreadful publicity. The police! I don’t mean you, Roderick, naturally. But everything—the papers, everyone poking and prying. Bunchy would have detested it. I can’t face it. I can’t.’

‘Where’s Donald?’

‘He rang up. He’s coming.’

‘From where?’

‘From this friend’s flat, wherever it is.’

‘He’s away from home?’

‘Didn’t Bunchy tell you? Ever since that awful afternoon when he was so cross with Donald. Bunchy didn’t understand.’

‘Why was Bunchy cross with him?’

‘He had run into debt rather. And now, poor boy, he is no doubt feeling too dreadfully remorseful.’

Alleyn did not answer immediately. He walked over to the window and looked out.

‘It will be easier for you,’ he said at last, ‘when Donald gets here. I suppose the rest of the family will come too?’

‘Yes. All our old cousins and aunts. They have already rung up. Broomfield—Bunchy’s eldest nephew, you know—I mean my eldest brothers son is away on the Continent. He’s the head of the family, of course. I suppose I shall have to make all the arrangements and—and I’m so dreadfully shaken.’

‘I’ll do as much as I can. There are some things that I must do. I’m afraid, Mildred, I shall have to ask you to let me look at Bunchy’s things. His papers and so on.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Lady Mildred, ‘he would have preferred you to anyone else, Roderick.’

‘You make it very easy for me. Shall I get it done now?’

Lady Mildred looked helplessly about her.

‘Yes. Yes, please. You’ll want his keys, won’t you?’

‘I’ve got the keys, Mildred,’ said Alleyn gently.

‘But—where—?’ She gave a little cry. ‘Oh, poor darling. He always took them with him everywhere.’ She broke down completely. Alleyn waited for a moment and then he said:

‘I shan’t attempt the impertinence of condoling phrases. There is small comfort in scavenging in this mess for crumbs of consolation. But I tell you this, Mildred, if it takes me the rest of my life, and if it costs me my job, by God! if I have to do the killing myself, I’ll get this murderer and see him suffer for it.’ He paused and made a grimace. ‘Good Lord, what a speech! Bunchy would have laughed at it. It’s a curious thing that when one speaks from the heart it is invariably in the worst of taste.’

He looked at her grey hair arranged neatly and unfashionably and enclosed in a net. She peered at him over the top of her drenched handkerchief and he saw that she had not listened to him.

‘I’ll get on with it,’ said Alleyn, and made his way alone to Lord Robert’s study.

V

LORD ROBERT GOSPELL

DIES IN TAXI

Last night’s shocking Fatality

Who was the Second Passenger?

Sir Daniel Davidson arrived at his consulting-rooms at half-past ten. At his front door he caught sight of the news placard and, for the first time in his life, bought a sporting edition. He now folded the paper carefully and laid it on top of his desk. He lit a cigarette, and glanced at his servant.

‘I shan’t see any patients,’ he said. ‘If anybody rings up—I’m out. Thank you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the servant and removed himself.

Sir Daniel sat thinking, He had trained himself to think methodically and he hated slipshod ideas as much as he despised a vague diagnosis. He was, he liked to tell his friends, above all things, a creature of method and routine. He prided himself upon his memory. His memory was busy now with events only seven hours old. He closed his eyes and saw himself in the entrance-hall of Marsdon House at four o’clock that morning. The last guests, wrapped in coats and furs, shouted cheerfully to each other and passed through the great doors in groups of twos and threes. Dimitri stood at the foot of the stairs. He himself was near the entrance to the men’s cloakroom. He was bent on avoiding Lucy Lorrimer, who had stayed to the bitter end, and would offer to drive him home if she saw him. There she was, just going through the double doors. He hung back. Drifts of fog were blown in from the street. He remembered that he had wrapped his scarf over his mouth when he noticed the fog. It was at that precise moment he had seen Mrs Halcut-Hackett, embedded in furs, slip through the entrance alone. He had thought there was something a little odd about this. The collar of her fur wrap turned up, no doubt against the fog, and the manner in which she slipped, if so majestic a woman could be said to slip, round the outside of the group! There was something furtive about it. And then he himself had been jostled by that fellow Withers, coming out of the cloakroom. Withers had scarcely apologized, but had looked quickly round the melting group in the hall and up the stairs.