Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 11: Photo-Finish, Light Thickens, Black Beech and Honeydew. Ngaio Marsh

recurrent onsets of Maria’s hysteria, modelled, Alleyn guessed, upon those of her late employer.

      The staff sitting room, which in less democratic days would have been called the servants’ hall, was large, modern in design, gaily furnished and equipped with colour television, a ping-pong table and any number of functional armchairs. The housekeeper, who turned out to be called, with Congrevian explicitness, Mrs Bacon, sat apart from her staff but adjacent to Mr Reece. She was a well-dressed, personable lady of capable appearance. Behind her was a subdued bevy of two men and three girls, the ex-hotel staff, Alleyn assumed, that she had brought with her to the Lodge.

      Hanley continued in his role of restless dogsbody and hovered, apparently in readiness for something unexpected to turn up, near the door.

      Alleyn spoke briefly. He said he knew how shocked and horrified they all must be and assured them that he would make as few demands upon them as possible.

      ‘I’m sure,’ he said, ‘that you all wonder if there is a connection between this appalling crime and the recent activities of the elusive cameraman.’ (And he wondered if Maria had noticed the photograph pinned to the body.) ‘You will, I dare say, be asking yourselves if yesterday’s intruder whom we failed to hunt down could be the criminal. I’m sure your search,’ Alleyn said and managed to avoid a sardonic tone, ‘was extremely thorough. But in a case like this every possibility, however remote, should be explored. For that reason I am going to ask the men of the household to sort themselves into pairs and to search the whole of the indoor premises. I want the pairs to remain strictly together throughout the exercise. You will not go into Madame Sommita’s bedroom which is now locked. Mr Bartholomew has already gone to bed and you need not disturb him. Just look in quietly and make sure he is there. I must ask you simply to assure yourselves that there is no intruder in the house. Open any doors behind which someone might be hiding, look under beds and behind curtains, but don’t handle anything else. I am going to ask Mrs Bacon and Mr Hanley to supervise this operation.’

      He turned to Mrs Bacon. ‘Perhaps we might just have a word?’ he suggested.

      ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘In my office.’

      ‘Good.’ He looked round the assembled staff.

      ‘I want you all to remain here,’ he said. ‘We won’t keep you long. I’ll leave Dr Carmichael in charge.’

      Mrs Bacon conducted Alleyn and Hanley to her office, which turned out to be a sitting room with a large desk in it.

      She said: ‘I don’t know whether you gentlemen would care for a drink but I do know I would,’ and went to a cupboard from which she produced a bottle of whisky and three glasses. Alleyn didn’t want a drink but thought it politic to accept. Hanley said: ‘Oh yes. Oh yes. Please!’

      Alleyn said: ‘I see no point in pretending that I think the perpetrator of this crime has contrived to leave the island and nor do I think he is somewhere out there in the storm or skulking in the hangar. Mrs Bacon, is the entire staff collected in there? Nobody missing?’

      ‘No. I made sure of that.’

      ‘Good. I think it will be best to pair the members of the household with the guests and for you two, if you will, to apportion the various areas so that all are covered without overlapping. I’m not familiar enough with the topography of the Lodge to do this. I’ll cruise.’

      Mrs Bacon had watched him very steadily. He thought that this had probably been her manner in her hotel days when listening to complaints.

      She said: ‘Am I wrong in understanding that you don’t believe the murderer was on the Island yesterday? That the trespasser was not the murderer, in fact?’

      Alleyn hesitated and then said: ‘I don’t think the murderer was a trespasser, no.’

      Hanley said loudly: ‘Oh no! But you can’t – I mean – that would mean – I mean – oh no!’

      ‘It would mean,’ said Mrs Bacon, still looking at Alleyn, ‘that Mr Alleyn thinks Madame Sommita was murdered either by a guest or by a member of the household. That’s correct, Mr Alleyn, isn’t it? By, if I can put it that way – one of us?’

      ‘That is perfectly correct, Mrs Bacon,’ said Alleyn.

       CHAPTER 5

       Nocturne

      The hunt turned out as Alleyn had expected it would, to be a perfectly useless exercise. The couples were carefully assorted. Marco was paired with Mrs Bacon, Ben Ruby with Dr Carmichael and Hanley with the chef for whom he seemed to have an affinity. Alleyn dodged from one pair to another, turning up where he was least expected, sometimes checking a room that had already been searched, sometimes watching the reluctant activities of the investigators, always registering in detail their reactions to the exercise.

      These did not vary much. Hanley was all eyes and teeth and inclined to get up little intimate arguments with the chef. Ben Ruby, smoking a cigar, instructed his partner, Dr Carmichael, where to search, but did nothing in particular himself. Alleyn thought he seemed to be preoccupied as if confronted by a difficult crossword puzzle. Signor Lattienzo looked as if he thought the exercise was futile.

      When the search was over they all returned to the staff sitting room where, on Alleyn’s request, Hilda Dancy and Sylvia Parry joined them. Nobody had anything to report. The New Zealanders, Alleyn noticed, collected in a huddle. Mrs Bacon and the ex-hotel staff showed a joint tendency to eye the Italians. Marco attached himself to Signor Lattienzo. Maria entered weeping but in a subdued manner, having been chastened, Alleyn fancied, by Mrs Bacon. Hanley detached himself from his chef and joined Ben Ruby.

      When they were all assembled, the door opened and Mr Reece walked in. He might have arrived to take the chair at a shareholders’ meeting. Hanley was assiduous with offers of a seat and was disregarded.

      Mr Reece said to Alleyn: ‘Please don’t let me interrupt. Do carry on.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Alleyn said. He told Mr Reece of the search and its non-result and was listened to with stony attention. He then addressed the company. He said he was grateful to them for having carried out a disagreeable job and asked that if any of them, on afterthought, should remember something that could be of significance, however remotely, he would at once speak of it. There was no response. He then asked how many of them possessed cameras.

      The question was received with concern. Glances were exchanged. There was a general shuffling of feet.

      ‘Come on,’ Alleyn said. ‘There’s no need to show the whites of your eyes over a harmless enquiry. I’ll give you a lead.’ He raised his hand. ‘I’ve got a camera and I don’t mind betting most of you have. Hands up.’ Mr Reece, in the manner of seconding the motion, raised his. Seven more followed suit, one after another, until only six had not responded: Three New Zealand housemen with Maria, Marco and Hilda Dancy.

      ‘Good,’ Alleyn said. ‘Now. I’m going to ask those of you who do possess a camera to tell me what the make is and if you’ve used it at any time during the last week and if so what you took. Mrs Bacon?’

      ‘Old-fashioned Simplex. I used it yesterday. I snapped the people round the bathing pool from my sitting-room window.’

      ‘Miss Parry?’

      ‘It’s a Pixie. I used it yesterday.’ She turned pink. ‘I took Rupert. By the landing stage.’

      ‘Signor Lattienzo?’

      ‘Oh, my dear Mr Alleyn!’ he said, spreading his hands. ‘Yes, I have a camera. It was presented to me by – forgive my conscious looks and mantling cheeks – a grateful pupil. Isabella, in fact. I cannot