Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 3: Death in a White Tie, Overture to Death, Death at the Bar

‘But,’ she said, ‘that’s absurd. No, honestly, Mr Alleyn, I just can’t believe there could be any possible connection. Why, my friend –’

‘Mrs Halcut-Hackett,’ said Alleyn, ‘I am afraid we must abandon your friend.’

She shot a horrified glance at Fox, and Alleyn answered it.

‘Mr Fox is fully acquainted with the whole story,’ he said. ‘He agrees with me that your friend had better dissolve. We realize that beyond all doubt you yourself were the victim of these blackmailing letters. There is no need for you to feel particularly distressed over this. It is much better to tackle this sort of thing without the aid of an imaginary Mrs X. She makes for unnecessary confusion. We now have the facts –’

‘But – how do you –?’

Alleyn decided to take a risk. It was a grave risk.

‘I have already spoken to Captain Withers,’ he said.

‘My God, has Maurice confessed?’

Fox’s notebook dropped to the floor.

Alleyn, still watching the gaping mouth with its wet red margin, said: ‘Captain Withers has confessed nothing.’ And he thought: ‘Does she realize the damage she’s done?’

‘But I don’t mean that,’ Mrs Halcut-Hackett gabbled. ‘I don’t mean that. It’s not that. You must be crazy. He couldn’t have done it.’ She clenched her hands and drummed with her fists on the arms of the chair. ‘What did he tell you?’

‘Very little I’m afraid. Still we learned at least that it was not impossible –’

‘You must be crazy to think he did it. I tell you he couldn’t do it.’

‘He couldn’t do what, Mrs Halcut-Hackett?’ asked Alleyn.

‘The thing – Lord Robert …’ She gaped horridly and then with a quick and vulgar gesture, covered her mouth with her ringed hand. Horrified intelligence looked out of her eyes.

‘What did you think Captain Withers had confessed?’

‘Nothing to do with this. Nothing that matters to anyone but me. I didn’t mean a thing by it. You’ve trapped me. It’s not fair.’

‘For your own sake,’ said Alleyn, ‘you would be wise to try to answer me. You say you did not mean to ask if Captain Withers had confessed to murder. Very well, I accept that for the moment. What might he have confessed? That he was the author of the letter your blackmailer had threatened to use. Is that it?’

‘I won’t answer. I won’t say anything more. You’re trying to trap me.’

‘What conclusion am I likely to draw from your refusal to answer? Believe me, you take a very grave risk if you refuse.’

‘Have you told my husband about the letter?’

‘No. Nor shall I do so if it can be avoided. Come now.’ Alleyn deliberately drew all his power of concentration to a fine point. He saw his dominance drill like a sort of mental gimlet through her flabby resistance. ‘Come now. Captain Withers is the author of this letter. Isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but –’

‘Did you think he had confessed as much?’

‘Why, yes, but –’

‘And you suppose Lord Robert Gospell to have been the blackmailer? Ever since that afternoon when he sat behind you at the concert?’

‘Then it was Robert Gospell!’ Her head jerked back. She looked venomously triumphant.

‘No,’ said Alleyn. ‘That was a mistake. Lord Robert was not a blackmailer.’

‘He was. I know he was. Do you think I didn’t see him last night, watching us. Why did he ask me about Maurice? Why did Maurice warn me against him?’

‘Did Captain Withers suggest that Lord Robert was a blackmailer?’ In spite of himself a kind of cold disgust deadened Alleyn’s voice. She must have heard it because she cried out:

‘Why do you speak of him like that? Of Captain Withers, I mean. You’ve no right to insult him.’

‘My God, this is a stupid woman,’ thought Alleyn. Aloud he said: ‘Have I insulted him? If so I have gone very far beyond my duty. Mrs Halcut-Hackett, when did you first miss this letter?’

‘About six months ago. After my charade party in the little season.’

‘Where did you keep it?’

‘In a trinket-box on my dressing-table.’

‘A locked box?’

‘Yes. But the key was sometimes left with others in the drawer of the dressing-table.’

‘Did you suspect your maid?’

‘No. I can’t suspect her. She has been with me for fifteen years. She’s my old dresser. I know she wouldn’t do it.’

‘Have you any idea who could have taken it?’

‘I can’t think, except that for my charade party I turned my room into a buffet, and the men moved everything round.’

‘What men?’

‘The caterer’s men. Dimitri. But Dimitri superintended them the whole time. I don’t believe they had an opportunity.’

‘I see,’ said Alleyn.

He saw she now watched him with a different kind of awareness. Alleyn had interviewed a great number of Mrs Halcut-Hacketts in his day. He knew very well that with such women he carried a weapon that he was loath to use, but which nevertheless fought for him. This was the weapon of his sex. He saw with violent distaste that some taint of pleasure threaded her fear of him. And the inexorable logic of thought presented him to himself, side by side with her lover.