Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 10: Last Ditch, Black As He’s Painted, Grave Mistake. Ngaio Marsh
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Bailey, a mulishly inclined officer, said he’d gone over the spear and could find evidence of only one set of prints and that they were smeared. He added that the camera might bring up something latent but he didn’t hold out many hopes. The angle of the spear to the body had been measured. Sir James said it had been a downward thrust. ‘Which would indicate a tall man,’ he said.
‘Or a middle-sized man on a chair?’ Alleyn suggested.
‘Yes. A possibility.’
‘All right,’ Alleyn said. ‘We’d better withdraw that thing.’
‘You’ll have a job,’ Sir James offered.
They did have a job and the process was unpleasant. In the end the body had to be held down and the spear extracted by a violent jerk, producing a sickening noise and an extrusion of blood.
‘Turn him over,’ Alleyn said.
The eyes were open and the jaw collapsed, turning the Ambassador’s face into a grotesque mask of astonishment. The wound of entry was larger than that of exit. The closely cropped turf was wet.
‘Horrible,’ Alleyn said shortly.
‘I suppose we can take him away?’ Sir James suggested. ‘I’ll do the PM at once.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. We’re on Ng’ombwanan ground. We’re on sufferance. The mortuary van’s outside all right but I don’t think we can do anything about the body unless they say so.’
‘Good Lord!’
‘There may be all sorts of taboos, observances and what have you.’
‘Well,’ said Sir James, not best pleased, ‘in that case I’ll take myself off. You might let me know if I’m wanted.’
‘Of course. We’re all walking about like a gaggle of Agags, it’s so tricky. Here’s Fred Gibson.’
He had come to say that the President wished the body to be conveyed to the ballroom.
‘What for?’ Alleyn demanded.
‘This assembly or what-have-you. Then it’s to be put upstairs. He wants it flown back to Ng’ombwana.’
‘Good evening to you,’ said Sir James and left.
Alleyn nodded to one of the constables, who fetched two men, a stretcher and a canvas. And so his country’s representative reentered his Embassy, finally relieved of the responsibility that had lain so heavily on his mind.
Alleyn said to the constables: ‘We’ll keep this tent exactly as it is. One of you remains on guard.’ And to Fox. ‘D’you get the picture, Br’er Fox? Here we all were, a round dozen of us including, you’ll be surprised to hear, my brother.’
‘Is that so, Mr Alleyn? Quite a coincidence.’
‘If you don’t mind, Br’er Fox, we won’t use that word. It’s cropped up with monotonous regularity ever since I took my jaunt to Ng’ombwana.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure.’
‘Not at all. To continue. Here we were, in arrowhead formation with the President’s chair at the apex. There’s his chair and that’s Troy’s beside it. On his other side was the Ambassador. The spear-carrier, who is at present under surveillance in the gents’ cloaks, stood behind his master’s chair. At the rear are those trestle tables used for drinks and a bit further forward an overturned, pretty solid wooden chair, the purpose of which escapes me. The entrance into the tent at the back was used by the servants. There were two of them, the larger being one of the household henchmen and the other a fresh-faced, chunky specimen in Costard’s livery. Both of them were in evidence when the lights went out.’
‘And so,’ said Fox, who liked to sort things out, ‘as soon as this Karbo artist appears, his spotlight picks him up and makes a splash on the screen behind him. And from the back of the tent where this spear expert is stationed anybody who stands up between him and light shows up like somebody coming in late at the cinema.’
‘That’s it.’
‘And after the shot was fired you stopped the President from standing up but the Ambassador did stand up and Bob, in a manner of speaking, was your uncle.’
‘In a manner of speaking, he was.’
‘Now then,’ Fox continued in his stately manner. ‘Yes. This shot. Fired, we’re told by the lady you mentioned, from the window of the female conveniences. No weapon’s been recovered, I take it?’
‘Give us a chance.’
‘And nobody’s corroborated the lady’s story about this dirty big black man who kicked her?’
‘No.’
‘And this chap hasn’t been picked up?’
‘He’s like an insubstantial pageant faded.’
‘Just so. And do we assume, then, that having fired his shot and missed his man, an accomplice, spear-carrier or what have you, did the job for him?’
‘That may be what we’re supposed to think. To my mind it stinks. Not to high Heaven, but slightly.’
‘Then what –?’
‘Don’t ask me, Br’er Fox. But designedly or not, the shot created a diversion.’
‘And when the lights came on?’
‘The President was in his chair where I’d shoved him and Troy was in hers. The other two ladies were in theirs. The body was three feet to the President’s left. The guests were milling about all over the shop. My big brother was ordering them in a shaky voice not to panic. The spear-carrier was on his knees nursing his carotid artery. The chair was overturned. No servants.’
‘I get the picture.’
‘Good, come on, then. The corroboree, pow-wow, conventicle or coven, call it what you will, is now in congress and we are stayed for.’ He turned to Bailey and Thompson. ‘Not much joy for you chaps at present but if you can pick up something that looks too big for a female print in the second on the left of the ladies’ loo it will be as balm in Gilead. Away we go, Fox.’
But as they approached the house they were met by Gibson looking perturbed, with Mr Whipplestone in polite attendance.
‘What’s up, Fred?’ Alleyn asked. ‘Have your race relations fractured?’
‘You could put it like that,’ Mr Gibson conceded, ‘He’s making things difficult.’
‘The President?’
‘That’s right. He won’t collaborate with anyone but you.’
‘Silly old chump.’
‘He won’t come out of his library until you’ve gone in.’
‘What’s bitten him, for the love of Mike?’
‘I doubt if he knows.’
‘Perhaps,’ Mr Whipplestone ventured, ‘he doesn’t like the introduction of me into the proceedings?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, sir,’ said Gibson unhappily.
‘What a nuisance he contrives to be,’ Alleyn said, ‘I’ll talk to him. Are the hosts of Ng’ombwana mustered in the ballroom?’
‘Yes. Waiting for Master,’ said Gibson.
‘Any developments, Fred?’
‘Nothing to rave about. I’ve had a piece of that sergeant in the cloakroom. It seems she acted promptly enough after she left her grandstand seat and attended to Mrs C-M. She located the nearest of my men and gave him the info. A search for chummy was set up with no results and I was informed. The men on duty outside the house say nobody left it. If they say so,