Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 8: Death at the Dolphin, Hand in Glove, Dead Water. Ngaio Marsh

entirely agree,’ Mr Cartell said, very nastily indeed, ‘and have often said as much, I believe, to you.’

      There was quite a dreadful silence, broken at last by Mr Period.

      ‘Strange,’ he observed, ‘how, even in the animal kingdom, breeding makes itself felt.’ And he was off, in a very big way, on his favourite topic. Inspired, perhaps, by what he would have called Pixie’s lack of form, he went to immoderate lengths in praising this quality. He said, more than once, that he knew the barriers had been down for twenty years but nevertheless … On and on he went, all through the curry and well into the apple flan. He became, Nicola had regretfully to admit, more than a little ridiculous.

      It was clear that Mr Cartell thought so. He himself grew more and more restive. Nicola guessed that he was fretted by divided loyalties and even more by the behaviour of Leonard Leiss who, having finished his lunch, continued to lean back in his chair and whistle softly through his teeth. Moppett asked him sardonically, how the chorus went. He raised his eyebrows and said: ‘Oh, pardon me. I just can’t seem to get that little number out of my system,’ and smiled generally upon the table.

      ‘Evidently,’ said Mr Cartell.

      Mr Period said he felt sure that he himself made far too much of the niceties of civilized behaviour and told them how his father had once caused him to leave the dining-room for using his fish-knife. Mr Cartell listened with mounting distaste.

      Presently he wiped his lips, leant back in his chair and said: ‘My dear P.P., that sort of thing is no doubt very well in its way, but surely one can make a little too much of it?’

      ‘I happen to feel rather strongly about such matters,’ Mr Period said with a small deprecating smile at Nicola.

      Miss Cartell, who had been watching her adopted niece with anxious devotion, suddenly shouted: ‘I always say that when people start fussing about family and all that, it’s because they’re a bit hairy round the heels themselves, ha, ha!’

      She seemed to be completely unaware of the implications of her remark or its effect upon Mr Period.

      ‘Well, really, Connie!’ he said. ‘I must say!’

      ‘What’s wrong?’

      Mr Cartell gave a dry little laugh. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘“when Adam delved” you know.’

      ‘“Dolve”, I fancy, not “delved”,’ Mr Period corrected rather smugly. ‘Oh, yes. The much-quoted Mr Ball who afterwards was hanged for his pains, wasn’t he? “Who was then the gentleman?” The answer is, of course, “nobody”. It takes several generations to evolve the genuine article, don’t you agree?’

      ‘I’ve known it to be effected in less than no time,’ Mr Cartell said dryly. ‘It’s quite extraordinary to what lengths some people will go. I heard on unimpeachable authority of a man who forged his name in a parish register in order to establish descent from some ancient family or another.’

      Miss Cartell laughed uproariously.

      Mr Period dropped his fork into his pudding.

      Leonard asked with interest: ‘Was there any money in it?’

      Moppett said: ‘How was he found out? Tell us more.’

      Mr Cartell said, ‘There has never been a public exposure. And there’s really no more to tell.’

      Conversation then became desultory. Leonard muttered something to Moppett, who said: ‘Would anybody mind if we were excused? Leonard’s car is having something done to its guts and the chap in the garage seemed to be quite madly moronic. We were to see him again at two o’clock.’

      ‘If you mean Copper,’ Mr Period observed, ‘I’ve always understood him to be a thoroughly dependable fellow.’

      ‘He’s a sort of half-pi, broken-down gent or something, isn’t he?’ Leonard asked casually.

      ‘Jolly good man, George Copper,’ Miss Cartell said.

      ‘Certainly,’ Mr Period faintly agreed. He was exceedingly pale.

      ‘Oh,’ Leonard said, stretching his arms easily, ‘I think I can manage Mr George Copper quite successfully.’ He glanced round the table. ‘Smoking allowed?’ he asked.

      Miss Cartell swallowed her last fragment of cheese and her brother looked furious. Mr Period murmured: ‘Since you are leaving us, why not?’

      Leonard groped in his pockets. ‘I’ve left mine in the car,’ he said to Moppett. ‘Hand over, Sexy, will you?’

      Mr Period said: ‘Please,’ and offered his gold case. ‘These are Turks,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry if you don’t like them. Old-fogishly, I can’t get used to the others.’

      ‘Makes a change,’ Leonard said obligingly. He took a cigarette, looked at the case and remarked: ‘That’s nice.’ It was extraordinary how off-key his lightest observations could sound.

      ‘Do let me see,’ Moppett asked and took the case.

      ‘It was left me,’ Mr Period said, ‘by dear old Lady Barsington. An eighteenth-century card case. The jewelled clasp is said to be unique. There’s an inscription, but it’s very faint. If you take it to the light –’

      Moppett took it to the window and Leonard joined her there. He began to hum and then to sketch in the words of his little number: ‘“If you mean what I think you mean, it’s okay by me. Things aren’t always what they seem. Okay by me.”’ Moppett gaily joined in.

      Alfred came in to say that Mr Period was wanted on the telephone and he bustled out, after a pointedly formal apology.

      Leonard strolled back to the table. He had evidently decided that some conventional apology was called for. ‘So sorry to break up the party,’ he said winningly. ‘But if it’s all the same I think we’d better toddle.’

      ‘By all means. Please,’ said Mr Cartell.

      ‘What P.P. and Uncle Hal will think of your manners, you two!’ Miss Cartell said and laughed uneasily.

      They got up. Moppett said goodbye to Mr Cartell quite civilly and was suddenly effusive in her thanks. Leonard followed her lead, but with an air of finding it only just worth while to do so.

      ‘Be seeing you, ducks,’ Moppett said in Cockney to Miss Cartell and they went out.

      There followed a rather deadly little silence.

      Mr Cartell addressed himself to his sister. ‘My dear Connie,’ he said, ‘I should be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell you I consider that young man to be an unspeakable bounder.’

      Mr Period returned.

      ‘Shall we have our coffee in the drawing-room?’ he asked in the doorway.

      Nicola would have dearly liked to excuse herself and go back to the study, but Mr Period took her gently by the arm and led her to the drawing-room. His fingers, she noticed, were trembling. ‘I want,’ he said, ‘to show you a newly acquired treasure.’

      Piloting her into a far corner, he unfolded a brown-paper parcel. It turned out to be a landscape in water-colour: the distant view of a manor house.

      ‘It’s charming,’ Nicola said.

      ‘Thought to be an unsigned Cotman, but the real interest for me is that it’s my great-grandfather’s house at Ribblethorpe. Destroyed, alas, by fire. I came across it in a second-hand shop. Wasn’t that fun for me?’

      Alfred took round the coffee tray. Nicola pretended she couldn’t hear Mr Cartell and his sister arguing. As soon as Alfred had gone, Miss Cartell tackled her brother.

      ‘I think you’re jolly prejudiced, Boysie,’ she said. ‘It’s