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

‘Last night?’

‘By an assailant, whoever he was.’

‘Has he seen a doctor?’

‘Oh, yes. The man who looks after the Embassy. A Doctor Gomba. He’s quite a good man. Trained at St Luke’s.’

‘Did he elaborate at all on the injury?’

‘A blow, probably with the edge of the hand since there is no indication of a weapon. It’s not a break – only a crack.’

‘What does the mlinzi himself say about it?’

‘He has elaborated a little on his rather sparse account of last night. He says that someone struck him on the base of the neck and seized his spear. He has no idea of his assailant’s identity. I must apologize,’ said The Boomer affably, ‘for my unheralded appearance, my dear old man. My stay in London has been curtailed. I am determined that no painter but your wife shall do the portrait and I am impatient to have it. Therefore I cut through the codswallop, as we used to say at Davidson’s, and here, as you see, I am.’

Troy removed the brush from between her teeth. ‘Stay if you like, darling,’ she said and gave her husband one of the infrequent smiles that still afforded him such deep pleasure.

‘If I’m not in the way,’ he said and contrived not to sound sardonic. Troy shook her head.

‘No, no, no,’ said The Boomer graciously. ‘We are pleased to have your company. It is permitted to converse. Provided,’ he added with a bawling laugh, ‘that one expects no reply. That is the situation. Am I right maestro?’ he asked Troy, who did not reply, ‘I do not know the feminine of maestro,’ he confessed. ‘One must not say maestress. That would be in bad taste.’

Troy made a snuffling noise.

Alleyn sat down in a veteran armchair.

‘Since I am here and as long as it doesn’t disrupt the proceedings –’ he began.

‘Nothing,’ The Boomer interposed, ‘disrupts me.’

‘Good. I wonder then if your Excellency can tell me anything about two of your last night’s guests.’

‘My Excellency can try. He is so ridiculous,’ The Boomer parenthesized to Troy, ‘with his “Excellencies”.’ And to Alleyn: ‘I have been telling your wife about our times at Davidson’s.’

‘The couple I mean are a brother and sister called Sanskrit.’

The Boomer had been smiling but his lips now closed over his dazzling teeth, ‘I think perhaps I have moved a little,’ he said.

‘No,’ Troy said. ‘You are splendidly still,’ She began to make dark, sweeping gestures on her canvas.

‘Sanskrit,’ Alleyn repeated. ‘They are enormously fat.’

‘Ah! Yes. I know the couple you mean.’

‘Is there a link with Ng’ombwana?’

‘A commercial one. Yes. They were importers of fancy goods.’

‘Were?’

‘Were,’ said The Boomer without batting an eyelid. ‘They sold out.’

‘Do you know them personally?’

‘They have been presented,’ he said.

‘Did they want to leave?’

‘Presumably not, since they are coming back.’

‘What?’

‘I believe they are coming back. Some alteration in plans. I understand they intend to return immediately. They are persons of little importance.’

‘Boomer,’ said Alleyn, ‘have they any cause to bear you a grudge?’

‘None whatever. Why?’

‘It’s simply a check-up. After all, it seems somebody tried to murder you at your party.’

‘Well, you won’t have any luck with them. If anything, they ought to feel grateful.’

‘Why?’

‘It is under my regime that they return. They had been rather abruptly treated by the previous government.’

‘When was the decision taken? To re-instate them?’

‘Let me see – a month ago, I should say. More, perhaps.’

‘But when I visited you three weeks ago I actually happened to see Sanskrit on the steps outside his erstwhile premises. The name had just been painted out.’

‘You’re wrong there, my dear Rory. It was, I expect, in process of being painted in again.’

‘I see,’ said Alleyn and was silent for some seconds. ‘Do you like them?’ he asked. ‘The Sanskrits?’

‘No,’ said The Boomer. ‘I find them disgusting.’

‘Well, then –?’

‘The man had been mistakenly expelled. He made out his case,’ The Boomer said with a curious air of restraint. ‘He has every reason to feel an obligation and none to feel animosity. You may dismiss him from your mind.’

‘Before I do, had he any reason to entertain personal animosity against the Ambassador?’

An even longer pause. ‘Reason? He? None,’ said The Boomer. ‘None whatever.’ And then: ‘I don’t know what is in your mind, Rory, but I’m sure that if you think this person could have committed the murder you are – you are – what is the phrase – you will get no joy from such a theory. But,’ he added with a return of his jovial manner, ‘we should not discuss these beastly affairs before Mrs Alleyn.’

‘She hasn’t heard us,’ said Alleyn simply. From where he sat he could see Troy at work. It was as if her response to her subject was distilled into some sort of essence that flowed down arm, hand and brush to take possession of the canvas. He had never seen her work so urgently. She was making that slight breathy noise that he used to say was her inspiration asking to be let out. And what she did was splendid: a mystery in the making. ‘She hadn’t heard us,’ he repeated.

‘Has she not?’ said The Boomer and added: ‘That, I understand. I understand it perfectly.’