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

that. It was –’ He made a singular and uncharacteristic gesture as if warding off some menace. ‘It was so dreadful,’ he said.

      ‘Of course it was. One can’t imagine anything worse. Forgive me,’ Alleyn said, ‘but I don’t know exactly how you learned about it. Were you prepared in any way? Did Maria – ?’

      ‘You must have heard her. I was in the drawing room and came out and she was there on the stairs, screaming. I went straight up with her. I think I made out before we went into the room and without really taking it in, that Bella was dead. Was murdered. But not – how. Beppo, here, and Ned – arrived almost at the same moment. It may sound strange but the whole thing, at the time, seemed unreal: a nightmare, you might say. It still does.’

      Alleyn said: ‘You’ve asked me to take over until the police come. I’m very sorry indeed to trouble you –’

      ‘No. Please,’ Mr Reece interrupted with a shaky return to his customary formality. ‘Please, do as you would under any other circumstances.’

      ‘You make it easy for me. First of all, you are sure, sir, are you, that after Madame Sommita ordered you and Maria to leave the bedroom you heard her turn the key in the lock?’

      ‘Absolutely certain. May I ask why?’

      ‘And Maria used her own key when she returned?’

      ‘She must have done so, I presume. The door was not locked when Maria and I returned after she raised the alarm.’

      ‘And there are – how many keys to the room?’

      If atmosphere can be said to tighten without a word being uttered it did so then in Mr Reece’s study. The silence was absolute, nobody spoke, nobody moved.

      ‘Four?’ Alleyn at last suggested.

      ‘If you know, why do you ask?’ Hanley threw out.

      Mr Reece said: ‘That will do, Ned.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, cringing a little yet with a disreputable suggestion of blandishment. ‘Truly.’

      ‘Who has the fourth key?’ Alleyn asked.

      ‘If there is one I don’t imagine it is used,’ said Mr Reece.

      ‘I think the police will want to know.’

      ‘In that case we must find out. Maria will probably know.’

      ‘Yes,’ Alleyn agreed. ‘I expect she will.’ He hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Forgive me. The circumstances I know are almost unbelievably grotesque, but did you look closely? At what had been done? And how it had been done?’

      ‘Oh, really, Alleyn –’ Signor Lattienzo protested but Mr Reece held up his hand.

      ‘No, Beppo,’ he said and cracked a dismal joke. ‘As you yourself would say: I asked for it, and now I’m getting it.’ And to Alleyn: ‘There’s something under the knife. I didn’t go – near. I couldn’t. What is it?’

      ‘It is a photograph. Of Madame Sommita.’

      Mr Reece’s lips formed the word ‘photograph’ but no sound came from them.

      ‘This is a madman,’ Signor Lattienzo broke out. ‘A homicidal maniac. It cannot be otherwise.’

      Hanley said: ‘Oh yes, yes!’ as if there was some sort of comfort in the thought. ‘A madman. Of course. A lunatic.’

      Mr Reece cried out so loudly that they were all startled. ‘No! What you tell me alters the whole picture. I have been wrong. From the beginning I have been wrong. The photograph proves it. If he had left a signed acknowledgement it couldn’t be clearer.’

      There was a long silence before Lattienzo said flatly: ‘I think you may be right.’

      ‘Right! Of course I am right.’

      ‘And if you are, Monty, my dear, this Strix was on the Island yesterday and unless he managed to escape by the launch is still on this Island tonight. And in spite of all our zealous searching may actually be in the house. In which case we shall indeed do wisely to lock our doors.’ He turned to Alleyn. ‘And what does the professional say to all this?’ he asked.

      ‘I think you are probably correct in every respect, Signor Lattienzo,’ said Alleyn. ‘Or rather, in every respect but one.’

      ‘And what may that be?’ Lattienzo asked sharply.

      ‘You are proposing, aren’t you, that Strix is the murderer. I’m inclined to think you may be mistaken there.’

      ‘And I would be interested to hear why?’

      ‘Oh,’ said Alleyn, ‘just one of those things, you know. I would find it hard to say why. Call it a hunch.’

      ‘But my dear sir – the photograph.’

      ‘Ah yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘Quite so. There is always the photograph, isn’t there?’

      ‘You choose to be mysterious.’

      ‘Do I? Not really. What I really came in for was to ask you all if you happened to notice that the Italian stiletto, if that is what it is, was missing from its bracket on the wall behind the nude sculpture. And if you did notice, when.’

      They stared at him. After a long pause Mr Reece said: ‘You will find this extraordinary but nevertheless it is a fact. I had not realized that was the weapon.’

      ‘Had you not?’

      ‘I am, I think I may say, an observant man but I did not notice that the stiletto was missing and I did not recognize it –’ he covered his eyes with his hands – ‘when I – saw it.’

      Hanley said: ‘Oh God! Oh, how terrible.’

      And Lattienzo: ‘They were hers. You knew that, of course, Monty, didn’t you? Family possessions, I always understood. I remember her showing them to me and saying she would like to use one of them in Tosca. I said it would be much too dangerous, however cleverly she faked it. And I may add that the Scarpia wouldn’t entertain the suggestion for a second. Remembering her temperament, poor darling, it was not surprising.’

      Mr Reece looked up at Alleyn. His face was deadly tired and he seemed an old man.

      ‘If you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘I think I must go to my room. Unless of course there is anything else.’

      ‘Of course not.’ Alleyn glanced at Dr Carmichael, who went to Mr Reece.

      ‘You’ve had about as much as you can take,’ he said. ‘Will you let me see you to your room?’

      ‘You are very kind. No, thank you, doctor. I am perfectly all right. Only tired.’

      He stood up, straightened himself and walked composedly out of the room.

      When he had gone Alleyn turned to the secretary.

      ‘Mr Hanley,’ he said. ‘Did you notice one of the stilettos was missing?’

      ‘I’d have said so, wouldn’t I, if I had?’ Hanley pointed out in an aggrieved voice. ‘As a matter of fact, I simply loathe the things. I’m like that over knives. They make me feel sick. I expect Freud would have had something to say about it.’

      ‘No doubt,’ said Signor Lattienzo.

      ‘It was her idea,’ Hanley went on. ‘She had them hung on the wall. She thought they teamed up with that marvellous pregnant female. In a way, one could see why.’

      ‘Could one?’ said Signor Lattienzo and cast up his eyes.

      ‘I would like again to ask you all,’ said Alleyn, ‘if on consideration you can think of anyone – but anyone, however unlikely – who might have had some cause,