Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 10: Last Ditch, Black As He’s Painted, Grave Mistake

The spearsman, laying his hand upon the body, spoke boldly and briefly. The President replied even more briefly. The lionskin mantle was replaced, and the ceremony – assembly – trial – whatever it might be, was at an end. At no time during the final proceedings had The Boomer so much as glanced at Alleyn.

He now briefly harangued his hearers. Mr Whipplestone muttered that he ordered any of them who had any information, however trivial, bearing however slightly on the case, to speak immediately. This met with an absolute silence. His peroration was to the effect that he himself was in command of affairs at the Embassy. He then left. His ADCs followed and the one with whom Alleyn was acquainted paused by him to say the President requested his presence in the library.

‘I will come,’ Alleyn said, ‘in ten minutes. My compliments to the President, if you please.’

The ADC rolled his eyes, said, ‘But –’, changed his mind and followed his Master.

‘That,’ said Mr Whipplestone, ‘was remarkably crisp.’

‘If he doesn’t like it he can lump it. I want a word with Gibson. Come on.’

Gibson, looking sulky, and Fox, were waiting for them at their temporary quarters in the controller’s office. On the desk, lying on a damp unfolded handkerchief, was a gun. Thompson and Bailey stood nearby with their tools of trade.

‘Where?’ said Alleyn.

‘In the pond. We picked it up with a search lamp. Lying on the blue tiled bottom at the corner opposite the conveniences and three feet in from the margin.’

‘Easy chucking distance from the loo window.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Anything?’ Alleyn asked Bailey.

‘No joy, Mr Alleyn. Gloves, I reckon.’

‘It’s a Luger,’ Alleyn said.

‘They are not hard to come by,’ Mr Whipplestone said, ‘in Ng’ombwana.’

‘You know,’ Alleyn said, ‘almost immediately after the shot, I heard something fall into the pond. It was in the split second before the rumpus broke out,’

‘Well, well,’ said Fox. ‘Not,’ he reasoned, ‘a very sensible way for him to carry on. However you look at it. Still,’ he said heavily, ‘that’s how they do tend to behave.’

‘Who do, Br’er Fox?’

‘Political assassins, the non-professionals. They’re a funny mob, by all accounts.’

‘You’re dead right there, Teddy,’ said Mr Gibson, ‘I suppose,’ he added, appealing to Alleyn, ‘we retain possession of this Luger, do we?’

‘Under the circumstances we’ll be lucky if we retain possession of our wits. I’m damned if I know. The whole thing gets more and more like a revival of the Goon Show.’

‘The AC, your department, rang.’

‘What’s he want?’

‘To say the Deputy Commissioner will be calling in to offer condolences or what have you to the President. And no doubt,’ said Gibson savagely, ‘to offer me his advice and congratulations on a successful operation. Christ!’ he said and turned his back on his colleagues.

Alleyn and Fox exchanged a look.

‘You couldn’t have done more,’ Alleyn said after a moment. ‘Take the whole lay-out, you couldn’t have given any better coverage.’

‘That bloody sergeant in the bog.’

‘All right. But if Mrs Cockburn-Montfort’s got it straight the sergeant wouldn’t have stopped him in the dark, wherever she was.’

‘I told them. I told these bastards they shouldn’t have the blackout.’

‘But,’ said Fox, in his reasonable way, ‘the gun-man didn’t do the job anyway. There’s that aspect, Mr Gibson, isn’t there?’

Gibson didn’t answer this. He turned round and said to Alleyn: ‘We’ve to find out if the President’s available to see the DC.’

‘When?’

‘He’s on his way in from Kent. Within the hour.’

‘I’ll find out.’ Alleyn turned to Mr Whipplestone. ‘I can’t tell you, Sam, how much obliged to you I am,’ he said, ‘If it’s not asking too much, could you bear to write out an account of that black – in both senses – charade in there, while it’s still fresh in your mind? I’m having another go at the great panjandrum in the library.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Mr Whipplestone. ‘I’d like to.’

So he was settled down with writing materials and immediately took on the air of being at his own desk in his own rather rarefied office with a secretary in deferential attendance.

‘What’s horrible for us, Fred?’ Alleyn asked. It was a regulation inquiry for which he was known at the Yard.

‘We’ve got that lot from the tent party still waiting. Except the ones who obviously hadn’t a clue about anything. And,’ Gibson added a little awkwardly, ‘Mrs Alleyn. She’s gone, of course.’

‘I can always put her through the hoops at home.’

‘And – er, and er,’ said Gibson still more awkwardly, ‘there is – er – your brother.’

‘What!’ Alleyn shouted, ‘George! You don’t tell me you’ve got George sitting on his fat bottom waiting for the brutal police bit?’

‘Well –’

‘Mrs Alleyn and Sir George,’ said Fox demurely. ‘And we’re not allowed to mention coincidence.’

‘Old George,’ Alleyn pondered, ‘what a lark! Fox, you might press on with statements from that little lot. Including George. While I have another go at The Boomer. What about you, Fred?’

‘Get on with the bloody routine, I suppose. Could you lend me these two –’ he indicated Bailey and Thompson – ‘for the ladies’ conveniences? Not that there’s much chance of anything turning up there. Still, we’ve got this Luger-merchant roaming round somewhere in the establishment. We’re searching for the bullet, of course, and that’s no piece of cake. Seeing you,’ he said morosely and walked out.

‘You’d better get on with the loo,’ Alleyn said to Bailey and Thompson and himself returned to the library.

V

‘Look,’ Alleyn said, ‘it’s this way. You – Your Excellency – can, as of course you know, order us off whenever you feel like it. As far as inquiries inside the Embassy are concerned, we can become persona non grata at the drop of a hat and as such would have to limit our activities, of which you’ve no doubt formed an extremely poor opinion, to looking after your security whenever you leave these premises. We will also follow up any lines of enquiry that present themselves outside the Embassy. Quite simply, it’s a matter of whether or not you wish us to carry on as we are or make ourselves scarce. Colonel Sinclaire, the Deputy Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, is on his way. He hopes he may be allowed to wait upon you. No doubt he will express his deep regrets and put the situation before you in more or less the same terms as I have used.’

For the first time since they had renewed their acquaintance Alleyn found a kind of hesitancy in The Boomer’s manner. He made as if to speak, checked himself, looked hard at Alleyn for a moment and then began to pace up and down the library with the magnificent action that really did recall clichés about caged panthers.

At last he stopped in front of Alleyn and abruptly took him by the arms. ‘What,’ he demanded, ‘did you think of our enquiry? Tell me?’