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

Hanley, the secretary.

      Mr Reece, perhaps a trifle paler than usual but he was always rather wan, sat at his trendy desk – his swivel chair turned towards the room as if he had interrupted his work to give an interview. Hanley drooped by the window curtains and had probably been looking out at the night. The other two men sat by the fire and seemed to be relieved at Alleyn’s appearance. Signor Lattienzo did, in fact, exclaim: ‘Ecco! At last!’ Hanley, reverting to his customary solicitude, pushed chairs forward.

      ‘I am very glad to see you, Mr Alleyn,’ said Mr Reece in his pallid way. ‘Doctor,’ he added with an inclination of his head towards Carmichael.

      ‘I’m afraid we’ve little to report,’ Alleyn said. ‘Dr Carmichael is very kindly helping me but so far we haven’t got beyond the preliminary stages. I’m hoping that you, sir, will be able to put us right on some points, particularly in respect of the order of events from the time Rupert Bartholomew fainted until Maria raised the alarm.’

      He had hoped for some differences: something that could give him a hint of a pattern or explain the seeming discrepancies in Maria’s narrative. Particularly, something about keys. But no, on all points the account corresponded with Maria’s.

      Alleyn asked if the Sommita made much use of her bedroom key.

      ‘Yes; I think she did, I recommended it. She has – had – there was always – a considerable amount of jewellery in her bedroom. You may say very valuable pieces. I tried to persuade her to keep it in my safe in this room but she wouldn’t do that. It was the same thing in hotels. After all, we have got a considerable staff here and it would be a temptation.’

      ‘Her jewel case is in the escritoire – unlocked.’

      Mr Reece clicked his tongue. ‘She’s – she was incorrigible. The artistic temperament, I am told, though I never, I’m afraid, have known precisely what that means.’

      ‘One is never quite sure of its manifestations,’ said Alleyn, surprised by this unexpected turn in the conversation. Mr Reece seemed actually to have offered something remotely suggesting a rueful twinkle.

      ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you, no doubt have had first-hand experience.’ And with a return to his elaborately cumbersome social manner, ‘Delightful, in your case, may I hasten to say.’

      ‘Thank you. While I think of it,’ Alleyn said, ‘do you, by any chance, remember if Madame Sommita carried a gold mesh handbag when you took her up to her room?’

      ‘No,’ said Mr Reece, after considering it. ‘No, I’m sure she didn’t.’

      ‘Right. About these jewels. No doubt the police will ask you later to check the contents of the box.’

      ‘Certainly. But I am not familiar with all her jewels.’

      Only, Alleyn thought, with the ones he gave her, I dare say.

      ‘They are insured,’ Mr Reece offered. ‘And Maria would be able to check them.’

      ‘Is Maria completely to be trusted?’

      ‘Oh, certainly. Completely. Like many of her class and origin she has an uncertain temper and she can be rather a nuisance, but she was devoted to her mistress, you might say fanatically so. She has been upset,’ Mr Reece added with one of his own essays in understatement.

      ‘Oh, my dear Monty,’ Signor Lattienzo murmured. ‘Upset! So have we all been upset. Shattered would be a more appropriate word.’ He made an uncertain gesture and took out his cigarette case.

      And indeed he looked quite unlike himself, being white and, as Alleyn noticed, tremulous. Monty, my dear,’ he said. ‘I should like a little more of your superb cognac. Is it permitted?’

      ‘Of course, Beppo. Mr Alleyn? Doctor? Ben?’

      The secretary with a sort of ghostly reminder of his customary readiness, hurried into action. Dr Carmichael had a large whisky and soda and Alleyn nothing.

      Ben Ruby, whose face was puffed and blotched and his eyes bloodshot, hurriedly knocked back his cognac and pushed his glass forward. ‘What say it’s one of that mob?’ he demanded insecurely. ‘Eh? What say one of those buggers stayed behind?’

      ‘Nonsense,’ said Mr Reece.

      ‘S’all very fine, say “nonsense”.’

      ‘They were carefully chosen guests of known distinction.’

      ‘All ver’ well. But what say,’ repeated Mr Ruby, building to an unsteady climax, ‘one of your sodding guestserknownstinction was not what he bloody seemed. Eh? What say he was Six.’

      ‘Six?’ Signor Lattienzo asked mildly. ‘Did you say six?’

      ‘I said nothing of sort. I said,’ shouted Mr Ruby, ‘Strix.’

      ‘Oh no!’ Hanley cried out, and to Mr Reece: ‘I’m sorry, but honestly! There was the guest list. I gave one to the launch person and he was to tick off all the names as they came aboard in case anybody had been left behind. In the loo or something. I thought you couldn’t be too careful in case of accidents. Well, you know, it was – I mean is – such a night.’

      ‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Reece said wearily. ‘Give it a rest. You acted very properly.’ He turned to Alleyn. ‘I really can’t see why it should be supposed that Strix, if he is on the premises, could have any motive for committing this crime. On the contrary, he had every reason for wishing Bella to remain alive. She was a fortune to him.’

      ‘All ver’ well,’ Mr Ruby sulked. ‘If it wasn’t, then who was it? Thass the point. D’you think you know who it was? Beppo? Monty? Ned? Come on. No, you don’t. See what I mean?’

      ‘Ben,’ said Mr Reece quite gently, ‘don’t you think you’d better go to bed?’

      ‘You may be right. I mean to say,’ said Mr Ruby, appealing to Alleyn, ‘I’ve got a hell of a lot to do. Cables. Letters. There’s the US concert tour. She’s booked out twelve months ahead: booked solid. All those managements.’

      ‘They’ll know about it soon enough,’ said Mr Reece bitterly. ‘Once this storm dies down and the police arrive it’ll be world news. Go to bed, boy. If you can use him, Ned will give you some time tomorrow.’ He glanced at Hanley. ‘See to that,’ he said.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Hanley effused, smiling palely upon Mr Ruby who acknowledged the offer without enthusiasm. ‘Well, ta,’ he said. ‘Won’t be necessary, I dare say. I can type.’

      He seemed to pull himself together. He finished his brandy, rose, advanced successfully upon Mr Reece and took his hand. ‘Monty,’ he said. ‘Dear old boy. You know me. Anything I can do? Say the word.’

      ‘Yes, Benny,’ Mr Reece said, shaking his hand. ‘I know. Thank you.’

      ‘There’ve been good times, haven’t there?’ Mr Ruby said wistfully. ‘It wasn’t all fireworks, was it? And now …’

      For the first time Mr Reece seemed to be on the edge of losing his composure. ‘And now,’ he surprised Alleyn by saying, ‘she no longer casts a shadow.’ He clapped Mr Ruby on the shoulder and turned away. Mr Ruby gazed mournfully at his back for a moment or two and then moved to the door.

      ‘Good night, all,’ he said. He blew his nose like a trumpet and left them.

      He was heard to fall rather heavily on his way upstairs.

      ‘He is fortunate,’ said Signor Lattienzo who was swinging his untouched cognac around in the glass. ‘Now, for my part, the only occasions on which I take no consolation from alcohol are those of disaster. This is my third libation. The cognac is superb. Yet I know it will leave me stone-cold sober. It is very provoking.’

      Mr Reece, without turning