Vintage Murder (23 page)
Authors: Ngaio Marsh
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #det_classic, #Mystery & Detective, #Police Procedural, #Police, #Mystery fiction, #Alleyn; Roderick (Fictitious character), #Police - New Zealand, #New Zealand, #New Zealand fiction
DR. TE POKIHA PLAYS TO TYPE. WARN CURTAIN
But it was only Mr. St. John Ackroyd. Cass, who had moved into the yard, stopped him. The others could see him through the half open door. Beside the gigantic Cass, Ackroyd looked a pygmy of a man. He stood there in his rather loud check overcoat and jaunty hat, staring cockily up at Cass.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Cass, “but were you wanting to go into the theatre?”
“Yes, I was. I want to get to my wardrobe. Haven’t a clean shirt to my back.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you in this morning, sir.”
“Oh, God! Why the devil not? Look here, you can come in with me and see I don’t muck up the half-chewed cigar at the point marked X. Come on now, old boy, be a sport.”
“Very sorry, sir. I’m under orders and it can’t be done.”
“Yes, but look, old boy. Here—”
Mr. Ackroyd appeared to make an attempt to place his tiny hand confidingly in Cass’s. Cass stepped back a pace.
“No, so, sir. We don’t do things that way. Quite out of the question, thank you all the same.”
“Oh, blast! Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Buy new shirts?”
“If you’ll wait a little, sir, I’ll inquire—”
“Here, Cass!” called Wade.
“Sir?”
“Just a minute. Come in, Mr. Ackroyd, come in.”
The comic face was thrust round the door and distorted into a diverting grimace.
“Hullo, hullo! All the stars in one piece, including the Great Noise from the Yard. Any room for a little one?”
He came in, followed by Cass, and perched on the edge of Alfred Meyer’s desk, cocking his hat jauntily Over his left eye.
“Well. How’s things?” he inquired.
“I’m glad you looked in, Mr. Ackroyd,” said Wade. “There’s just one little matter I wanted to see you about.”
“Is there, by gum! Well, there’s another little matter I’d like to see you about. I want to get at my wardrobe.”
“In the statement you gave us on the night of the fatality,” continued Wade in a monotonous chant, “you said that you went from the dressing-rooms to the party.”
“That’s right.”
“Remaining on the stage until after the fatality?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?” demanded Ackroyd.
“You didn’t come out into the yard, at all?”
“Eh? — I — how d’you mean?”
“Just that, Mr. Ackroyd. You didn’t leave the stage before the party and walk along to the office?”
“Oh, God! Look here, old boy, I–I believe I did.”
“You did?”
“Yes. It was only for a minute. Just to tell George people were beginning to come in.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before, Mr. Ackroyd?”
“Damn it all, I’d forgotten all about it.”
“But now you state definitely that you did come here?”
“Yes,” said Ackroyd uncomfortably.
“We’ll have to get a new statement to that effect.” said Wade. “Will you tell us exactly what happened, Mr. Ackroyd?”
“Just what I said. I came along and stood in the doorway there. I said: ‘The party’s started, George,’ and George said: ‘Right you are. I’ve got a job here and then I’ll be along,’ or something. The job he had seemed to be a perfectly good drink. Well, I passed a remark or two and went back to the party.”
“Was Mr. Mason alone?”
“What? No, I rather fancy the black quack was there.”
“Pardon?” asked Wade, genteelly. “Who did you say?”
“The black quack.”
“Can Mr. Ackroyd possibly mean Dr. Te Pokiha?” asked Alleyn of nobody in particular.
“You’d hardly think so, would you?” said Wade.
“Oh, no offense,” said Ackroyd. “I forgot there was no colour bar in this country. The light-brown medico was on-stage. That better?”
“You want to be very very careful when you make statements, Mr. Ackroyd,” said Wade austerely. “We’ll have to get you to sign a new one. Seems funny, you forgetting you came along here.”
“Why the hell!” shouted Ackroyd hotly. “What’s funny about it? Why should I remember? Don’t be silly.”
“Did you go straight back to the stage?”
“Yes, I did go straight back, I — hullo George!”
George Mason’s unhappy face had appeared round the door.
“Hullo,” he mumbled. “Can I come in?”
“Come in, Mr. Mason,” said Wade. “Take a seat. You’re just the man we wanted to see. Do you remember Mr. Ackroyd, here, coming along to the office before the party?”
Mason passed his hand wearily over his forehead and slumped into a chair.
“Do I remember—? Yes, I do. Didn’t I tell you that? I’m sorry.”
“Quite all right. We just have to check up these little points. I don’t think I asked you, definitely. Cass, take Mr. Ackroyd along to his dressing-room and let him get anything he wants. Will you call in at the station between two and three this afternoon, Mr. Ackroyd? Thank you. Good morning.”
“And that,” said Ackroyd bitterly, “takes me
right
off. Good morning.”
When he had gone, Mason turned to Wade.
“Is there any mail here for me?” he asked.
“I think there is, Mr. Mason. We’ll let you have it.”
Mason groaned. “I suppose you’ve nothing definite to tell me, Mr. Wade? I’ve got our advance going nearly crazy in Wellington, not knowing whether he’s representing a repertory company or a murder gang.”
“It won’t be much longer.” Wade fell back on his stock opening gambit. “I’m sorry to give you the trouble of coming down this morning but there’s just one little matter I’d like to see you about, Mr. Mason. We’ve been talking to old Singleton, the doorkeeper, about the people that were outside, as you might say, before the party.”
“Boozy old devil. Was an actor once. Makes you think, doesn’t it? There but for the wrath of God, or whatever it is?”
Alleyn chuckled.
“He’s a bit too boozy for our liking,” continued Wade. “He’s given us one bit of information, and Dr. Te Pokiha’s given us another that contradicts it point-blank. It’s only a silly little thing—”
“Don’t talk to me about silly little things,” interjected Mason peevishly. “I’m sick of the phrase. There’s that Gaynes kid making a scene in fifteen different positions every five minutes, and demanding to be sent home to daddy because she’s ‘a silly little thing’ and so, so upset. And I ate some of this native crayfish for dinner last night and it kept me awake till dawn — silly little thing! Ugh!”
“Mr. Alleyn knows more about this than I do. He spoke about it to Dr. Te Pokiha.”
“Te Pokiha’s coming here, by the way. He looked in at the pub and said you wanted him.”
“If Mr. Alleyn—?” said Wade with a glance into the corner of the room where Alleyn sat peacefully smoking.
“It’s just this,” said Alleyn. “The old gentleman tells us that when you went out to the stage-door to warn him about asking the guests’ names, you were bareheaded and in your dinner-jacket.”
“Oh Lor’,” groaned Mason, “what of it? So I was.”
“And Dr. Te Pokiha says that he came in here just as you returned from the stage-door and you were wearing an overcoat and hat.”
“It’s a case of the drunk being right and the sober man wrong, as far as I can remember. I don’t think I put on my coat to go out. No, I’m sure I didn’t. I recollect old Singleton started one of his interminable reminiscences and I said it was too cold to stand about and made that the excuse to run away. I believe I did slip my coat on after I got back. Probably had it on when the doctor came in.”
“That explains that,” said Alleyn. “It sounds idiotic, but we have to fiddle about with these things.”
“Well, if it’s any help, that’s what I think happened. Look here, Alleyn,
are
you any further on with this case? I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself but this game is literally costing the Firm hundreds. It’s driving me silly, honestly it is. What about the affair on the train, can’t you get a lead from that?”
Alleyn got up and walked across to the fireplace.
“Wade,” he said, “I don’t know whether you’ll approve of this but I’m going to take Mr. Mason into our confidence over the affair on the train.”
“Just as you please, Mr. Alleyn,” said Wade, looking rather blank. “You do just as you think best.”
“It’s this,” said Alleyn, turning to Mason. “You remember that before we got to Ohakune everyone in the carriage was asleep.”
“Well,” said Mason, “I don’t remember because I was asleep myself.”
“As Mr. Singleton would say,” grinned Alleyn, “a very palpable hit. I put it carelessly. Let me amend it. Each of us has admitted that he or she was asleep for some time before we got to Ohakune. I have asked all the others and they agree to this. They also agree that they were all awakened by a terrific jolt as we got on to the thing they call the spiral. Old Miss Max was decanted into my lap. You remember?”
“I do. Poor old Susie! She looked a scream, didn’t she?”
“And Ackroyd let out a remarkably blue oath.”
“That’s right. Foul mouthed little devil — I don’t like that sort of thing. Common. He will do it.”
“Well now, you remember all this—”
“Of course I do. I thought we’d run into a cow or something.”
“And Mr. Meyer thought someone had given him a kick in the seat.”
“By George!” said Mason, “why didn’t someone think of that.”
“That’s what we’re always saying to the chief, Mr. Mason,” said Wade. “The trouble is, we don’t, and he does.”
There was a knock on the door.
“That’ll be the doctor,” said Wade. “Come in.”
Dr. Te Pokiha came in, smiling.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before. I had to go to the hospital — urgent case. You wanted to see me, Mr. Alleyn?”
“We all want to see you, I think,” said Alleyn. “It’s in connection with our conversation last night.”
He repeated the story of Mason and his overcoat. Te Pokiha listened without a word. When Alleyn had finished, there was a pause.
“Well, doctor, do you think you made a mistake?” said Wade.
“Certainly not, Mr. Mason came in at the outside door wearing his coat and hat. He took them off afterwards, when I removed my own coat. I am not in the habit of making mis-statements.”
“It’s not that,” said Mason peaceably, “it’s just that I came in before you did and put on my coat because I was cold. I’ve got a weak tummy, doctor,” he added with an air of giving the medical man a treat.
“You came in after I did,” said Te Pokiha with considerable emphasis. The whites of his eyes seemed to become more noticeable and his heavy brows came together.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t,” said Mason.
“You mean to say I’m a liar.”
“Don’t be silly, doctor. You simply made a mistake.”
“I did not make any mistake. This is insufferable. You will please admit at once that I am right.”
“Why the deuce should I when you are obviously wrong,” said Mason irritably.
“Don’t repeat that.” Te Pokiha’s warm voice thickened. His lips coarsened into a sort of snarl. He showed his teeth like a dog. “By Jove,” thought Alleyn, “the odd twenty per cent of pure savage.”
“Oh, don’t be a fool,” grunted Mason. “You don’t know what you’re talking about”
“You give me the lie!”
“Shut up. This isn’t a Wild West show.”
“You give me the lie!”
“Oh, for God’s sake don’t go native,” said Mason— and laughed.
Te Pokiha made a sudden leap at him. Mason scuttled behind Packer. “Keep off, you damn’ nigger!” he screamed.
The next few minutes were occupied in saving Mr. Mason’s life. Alleyn, Packer and Wade tackled Te Pokiha efficiently and scientifically, but even so it took their combined efforts to subdue him. He fought silently and savagely and only gave up when they had both his arms and one of his legs in chancery.
“Very well,” he said suddenly, and relaxed.
Cass appeared bulkily in the doorway. Ackroyd, clasping an armful of underwear, peered under his arm.
“Here, let me out,” said Mason.
“What’s wrong, sir?” asked Cass, not moving.
“I apologise, Mr. Alleyn,” said Te Pokiha quietly. “You can loose your hand.”
“All right, Wade,” said Alleyn.
“Thank you.” He moved away from them, his brown hands at his tie. “I am deeply ashamed,” he said. “This man has spoken of my — my colour. It is true I am a ‘native.’ I come of a people who do not care for insults but I should not have forgotten that an
ariki
[ — gentleman (literally — first born)] does not lay hands on a
taurekareka
. [ — slave, low-class person.]”
“What’s all this?” asked Ackroyd greedily.
“You buzz off, sir,” advised Cass. Ackroyd disappeared.
“I will go now,” said Te Pokiha. “If you wish to see me again, Mr. Alleyn, I shall be at my rooms between one and two. I am very sorry indeed that I forgot myself. Good morning, gentlemen.”
“And with that he swep’ off,” said Mason, coming out of cover. “My God, what a savage. I think if you don’t mind I’ll go back to the pub. This has upset me. My God. Has he gone? Right, I’m off.”
He went down the yard. Te Pokiha was getting into his car.
“Follow him,” snapped Alleyn to Cass. “Don’t lose sight of him.”
“Who?” said Cass, startled. “Te Pokiha?”
“No, Mason,” said Alleyn.
ALLEYN SPEAKS THE TAG
Extract from a letter written by Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn to Detective-Inspector Fox, C.I.D.:
— I’ve just returned from the arrest which took place immediately after the inquest. Mason gave no trouble. I think he was taken completely by surprise, though he must have felt things were getting dangerous as soon as the overcoat was mentioned. He said that he was innocent and that he would make no statement until he had consulted a lawyer. Psychologically he might be classed with Crippen, a drab everyday little man; but he’s not got the excuse of the
crime passionnel
. I suspect a stronger motive than the mere acquisition of money. Your cable seems to point to something fishy about the handling of his side of Incorporated Playhouses. I wouldn’t mind betting that you find he’s been gambling with the Firm’s money and needed this bequest to get himself out of a hole. If the story of his leaving a company stranded in America is true, it looks as if we’ll find a history of unscrupulousness over money matters.
He is a superb actor, of course. They told me so in the wardrobe-room and, by George, it’s true. He got right into the skin of his part — the insignificant little dyspeptic, worrying about what would happen to the show. The dyspepsia is true enough; we’ve found half a pharmacopoeia of remedies in his room. Somebody ought to write a monograph on the effect of the stomach on the morals.
You will get a solemn letter of thanks from Nixon, I expect. You’ve been remarkably nippy getting on to the trail, you cunning old devil. The case has interested me very much. It looked so complicated and it was actually so simple, once Bob Parsons had made his statement. Of course Mason had no idea Bob was in a position to provide a cast-iron alibi for the entire company, and no doubt thought that it would look as if any one of them might have dodged out and popped up to the grid. We have been very lucky. If Miss Dacres had not dropped the tiki I don’t believe we should have made an arrest. The stage-staff would have sworn it was murder, but everyone else would have thought they had made a mistake over the weights. I can’t help wondering if Mason meant, all along, to do just what Miss Dacres did for him. He didn’t get a chance, as it happened. I packed him off to the office with Te Pokiha. Really, he planned the thing quite well. His visit to the stage-door established his alibi, and his remark about the cold air drew Singleton’s attention to the fact that he was hatless and in his dinner-jacket. He returned to the office, put on his overcoat and hat, slid along the wall under cover of the open door — it’s an ill-lit place at night — walked boldly across the open end where there must have been plenty of people coming away from the show, came back along the yard, hidden from Singleton by the projecting bicycle shed, and then doubled round to the back of the theatre using the back-door key and leaving it on the inside when he returned.
If Te Pokiha had not come in from the box-office, I fancy Mason would have opened the door and shown himself, without his overcoat, to the clerks. That five minutes would never have been accounted for. Of course, we are now going over every inch of the path behind the sheds and hope to get something from it. The defence will have a little difficulty in accounting for Mason’s vivid recollection of an incident that never took place. Susan Max was not projected into my lap in the train, nor did Ackroyd utter any oaths. Mason, of course, thought this little diversion must have occurred when he was out on the platform taking a place kick at Meyer’s behind, and did not dare say he had not remembered it. He couldn’t say he had slept through it, as he’s always talking about being a light sleeper. Broadhead remembers someone coming back from the head of the carriage and sitting somewhere behind him. This, I believe, was Mason returning from his attempt. I fancy he got his idea for the second and successful attempt from the accident with the falling weight.
I’ve asked Nixon and Wade to give a miss to Carolyn Dacres’s performance as a weight-lifter. They are willing enough as it would very much confuse the issue in the minds of a jury. I shall be called and shall give an account of the condition found on my first visit to the grid, when the weight was still missing. Ticklish and possibly rather hot, but quite honest in the last analysis.
I think the verdict will go against him. There is no capital punishment here, so I fancy it will be a life-sentence. Miss Dacres insists on paying the cast a retaining salary for as long as they have to remain in this country. Hambledon and Gascoigne are trying to deal with affairs for her. I suppose she’ll marry Hambledon one of these days. He’s a nice fellow — Hambledon. I don’t think he knows she ever suspected him and I hope she doesn’t tell him. Liversidge is sweating blood and shaking in his fancy socks. He is a nasty bit of work and ought to be jugged. He’s also rather a fool. I fancy his only idea in letting fall ambiguous remarks about Broadhead and the money, was to try and divert suspicion of theft from himself, though, of course, he was terrified we’d find out about his conversation with Meyer and look upon it as a strong indication of motive to murder. He’s such a skunk that I suppose he’d have used Broadhead or anyone else as a red herring. The parents of young Palmer and of Valerie Gaynes have cabled for their respective offspring but won’t get ’em yet a while. Young Palmer is not entirely porcine and may turn into a presentable citizen one day. Miss Gaynes is, beyond all hope, abominable, and I hope they don’t give her the satisfaction of trying to be an actress in the witness-box. Ackroyd is chastened, old Brandon Vernon philosophical, and Gascoigne worried to death. Our old friend Miss Max shakes her head and keeps a friendly eye on Carolyn Dacres. Young Broadhead seems to be in a state of bewildered relief.
As you will see by this notepaper I am staying with Dr. Te Pokiha. I am learning something of his people. He has apologised seven times, up to date, for losing his temper with Mason, and tells me all members of his family hate being called liars. I hope he doesn’t fly into a rage with defending counsel, who is almost certain to question his veracity. He’s an extraordinarily interesting fellow and in spite of the temper, he has the most exquisite manners.
I’ve been asked to stay by several of the surrounding station-holders, so I shall see something of the North Island. They’re an amazingly hospitable people, these New Zealanders, very anxious that one should admire their country, rather on the defensive about it, but once they accept you, extremely friendly. I am asked, embarrassingly and repeatedly, about “the accent” and don’t know how to answer. The intelligentsia, who seem to be a gentle distillation of the Press and the universities, speak a queerly careful language and tell funny stories with the most meticulous regard for the
mot juste
. Their views are blamelessly liberal. What a damn’ superior ass I sound, talking like this about them. After this case is cleared up I go south to a high plateau encircled by mountains. I have fallen in love with the sound of this place, and indeed, with the country altogether. The air really
is
like wine, balmy and exciting. The colour is clear and everything is exquisitely defined — no pretty smudging.
Well, my old Fox, all this is a long cry from the case. There’s no more to say except that I await your air-mail letter with composure and confidence. I shall end this letter by running my pen round the little greenstone tiki so that you will have an idea of his shape and size. He will not appear in evidence, I hope, but you will see that in his own way he has played a not inconsiderable part in the affair. Carolyn Dacres tells me she still wants to have him. May he bring her better luck.
Good-bye, you old devil. It must be so exciting to be a detective.
Yours ever,
Roderick Alleyn.
