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

he embark on all that nonsense about an intruder?’

      ‘Well, darling, don’t you think because he intended to take a “Strix” photograph of the Sommita – his bonne bouche – and it seemed advisable to plant the idea that a visiting Strix was lurking in the underbrush. But the whole story of the intruder was fishy. The search party was a shocking-awful carry-on but by virtue of sheer numbers someone would have floundered into an intruder if he’d been there.’

      ‘And you are certain,’ said Dr Carmichael, ‘that he is not your man?’

      ‘He couldn’t be. He was waiting in the dining room and busy in the hall until the guests left and trotting to and from the launch with an umbrella while they were leaving.’

      ‘And incidentally in the porch, with me, watching the launch after they had gone. Yes. That’s right,’ agreed Dr Carmichael.

      ‘Is Mr Reece going to tackle him about Strix?’ Troy asked.

      ‘Not yet. He says he’s not fully persuaded. He prefers to leave it with me.’

      ‘And you?’

      ‘I’m trying to make up my mind. On the whole I think it may be best to settle Strix before the police get here.’

      ‘Now?’

      ‘Why not?’

      Troy said: ‘Of course he knows you’re on to it. After your breakfast-tray remarks.’

      ‘He’s got a pretty good idea of it, at least,’ said Alleyn and put his thumb on the bell.

      ‘Perhaps he won’t come.’

      ‘I think he will. What’s the alternative? Fling himself into the billowy wave and do a Leander for the mainland?’

      ‘Shall I disappear?’ offered Dr Carmichael.

      ‘And I?’ said Troy.

      ‘Not unless you’d rather. After all, I’m not going to arrest him.’

      ‘Oh? Not?’ they said.

      ‘Why would I do that? For being Strix? I’ve no authority. Or do you think we might borrow him for being a public nuisance or perhaps for false pretences? On my information he’s never actually conned anybody. He’s just dressed himself up funny-like and taken unflattering photographs. There’s the forged letter in The Watchman, of course. That might come within the meaning of some act: I’d have to look it up. Oh yes, and makes himself out to be a gentleman’s gent, with forged references, I dare say.’

      ‘Little beast,’ said Troy. ‘Cruel little pig, tormenting her like that. And everybody thinking it a jolly joke. And the shaming thing is, it was rather funny.’

      ‘That’s the worst of ill-doing, isn’t it? It so often has its funny side. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I could have stuck my job out if it wasn’t so. The earliest playwrights knew all about that: their devils more often than not were clowns and their clowns were always cruel. Here we go.’

      There had been a tap at the door. It opened and Marco came in.

      He was an unattractive shade of yellow but otherwise looked much as usual. He said: ‘You rang, sir?’

      ‘Yes,’ Alleyn agreed. ‘I rang. I’ve one or two questions to ask you. First, about the photograph you took yesterday afternoon through the window of the concert chamber. Did you put the print in the letter-bag?’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir.’

      ‘Yes, you do. You are Strix. You got yourself into your present job with the intention of following up your activities with the camera. Stop me if I’m wrong. But on second thoughts you’re more likely to stop me if I’m right, aren’t you? Did you see the advertisement for a personal servant for Mr Reece in the paper? Did it occur to you that as a member of Mr Reece’s entourage you would be able to learn a lot more about Madame Sommita’s programmes for the day? On some occasion when she was accompanied by Mr Reece or when Mr Reece was not at home and you were not required, you would be able to pop out to a room you kept for the purpose, dress yourself up like a sore thumb, startle her and photograph her with her mouth open looking ridiculous. You would hand the result in to the press and notch up another win. It was an impudently bold decision and it worked. You gave satisfaction as a valet and came here with your employer.’

      Marco had assumed an air of casual insolence.

      ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ he asked of nobody in particular and shrugged elaborately.

      ‘You took yesterday’s photograph with the intention of sending it back to The Watchman and through them to the chain of newspapers with whom you’ve syndicated your productions. I know you did this. Your footprints are underneath the window. I fancy this was to be your final impertinence and that having knocked it off you would have given in your notice, claimed your money, retired to some inconspicuous retreat and written your autobiography.’

      ‘No comment,’ said Marco.

      ‘I didn’t really suppose there would be. Do you know where that photograph is now? Do you, Marco?’

      ‘I don’t know anything about any—ing photograph,’ said Marco, whose Italian accent had become less conspicuous and his English a good deal more idiomatic.

      ‘It is skewered by a dagger to your victim’s dead body.’

      ‘My victim! She was not my victim. Not –’ He stopped.

      ‘Not in the sense of your having murdered her, were you going to say?’

      ‘Not in any sense. I don’t,’ said Marco, ‘know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘And I don’t expect there’ll be much trouble about finding your fingerprints on the glossy surface.’

      Marco’s hand went to his mouth.

      ‘Come,’ Alleyn said, ‘don’t you think you’re being unwise? What would you say if I told you your room will be searched?’

      ‘Nothing!’ said Marco loudly. ‘I would say nothing. You’re welcome to search my room.’

      ‘Do you carry the camera – is it a Strassman, by the way? – on you? How about searching you?’

      ‘You have no authority.’

      ‘That is unfortunately correct. See here, Marco. Just take a look at yourself. I shall tell the police what I believe to be the facts: that you are Strix, that you took the photograph now transfixed over Madame Sommita’s heart, that it probably carries your fingerprints. If it does not, it is no great matter. Faced by police investigation, the newspapers that bought your photographs will identify you.’

      ‘They’ve never seen me,’ Marco said quickly and then looked as if he could have killed himself.

      ‘It was all done by correspondence, was it?’

      ‘They’ve never seen me because I’m not – I’ve never had anything to do with them. You’re putting words in my mouth.’

      ‘Your Strix activities have come to an end. The woman you tormented is dead, you’ve made a packet and will make more if you write a book. With illustrations. The only thing that is likely to bother you is the question of how the photograph got from your camera to the body. The best thing you can do if you’re not the murderer of Isabella Sommita is help us find out who is. If you refuse, you remain a prime suspect.’

      Marco looked from Troy to Dr Carmichael and back to Troy again. It was as if he asked for their advice. Troy turned away to the studio window.

      Dr Carmichael said: ‘You’d much better come across, you know. You’ll do yourself no good by holding back.’

      There was a long silence.

      ‘Well,’