Artists in Crime ra-6 Page 9

  “I felt like it, of course. But I couldn’t quite do that. You see, they’d all got going on these other things, and there was Katti’s big thing, too. I think she was honestly sorry she’d done it. She really rather liked me. She simply went through life doing the first thing that came into her head. This business had been done in a blind fury with Valmai. She only thought of me afterwards. She fetched up by having hysterics and offering to pose for nothing for the rest of her life.” Troy smiled crookedly. “The stable-door idea,” she said.

  “Basil and I were frightfully upset,” said Valmai Seacliff. “Weren’t we, Basil?”

  Alleyn looked to see how Pilgrim would take this remark. He thought that for a moment he saw a look of reluctant surprise.

  “Darling!” said Pilgrim, “of course we were.” And then in his eyes appeared the reflection of her beauty, and he stared at her with the solemn alarm of a man very deeply in love.

  “Were there any more upheavals after this?” asked Alleyn after a pause.

  “Not exactly,” answered Troy. “She was chastened a bit. The others let her see that they thought she’d — she’d— ”

  “I went crook at her,” announced Hatchett. “I told her I reckoned she was— ”

  “Pipe down, Hatchett.”

  “Good-oh, Miss Troy.”

  “We were all livid,” said Katti Bostock hotly. “I could have mur—” She stopped short. “Well, there you are, you see.” she said doggedly. “I could have murdered her but I didn’t. She knew how I felt, and she took it out in the sittings she gave me.”

  “It was sacrilege,” squeaked Phillida Lee. “That exquisite thing. To see it with that obscene— ”

  “Shut up, Lee, for God’s sake,” said Katti Bostock.

  “Oddly enough,” murmured Malmsley, “Garcia seemed to take it as heavily as anybody. Worse if anything. Do you know, he was actually ill, Troy? I found him in the garden, a most distressing sight.”

  “How extraordinary!” said Valmai Seacliff vaguely. “I always thought he was entirely without emotion. Oh, but of course— ”

  “Of course — what?” asked Alleyn.

  “Well, it was a portrait of me, wasn’t it? I attracted him tremendously in the physical sense. I suppose that was why he was sick.”

  “Oh, bilge and bosh!” said Katti Bostock.

  “Think so?” said Seacliff quite amiably.

  “Can any of you tell me on what sort of footing the model and Mr. Garcia were during the last week?” asked Alleyn.

  “Well, I told you she’d been his mistress,” said Malmsley. “He said that himself during Friday afternoon.”

  “Not while they were here, I hope,” said Troy. “I told him I wouldn’t have anything like that.”

  “He said so. He was very pained and hurt at your attitude, I gathered.”

  “Well, I know there was something going on, anyway,” said Phillida Lee, with a triumphant squeak. “I’ve been waiting to tell the superintendent this, but you were all so busy talking, I didn’t get a chance. I know Sonia wanted him to marry her.”

  “Why, Miss Lee?”

  “Well, they were always whispering together, and I went to the studio one day, about a week ago, I think, and there they were having a session — I mean, they were talking — nothing else.”

  “You seem to have had a good many lucky dips in the studio, Lee,” said Katti Bostock. “What did you overhear this time?”

  “You needn’t be so acid. It may turn out a mercy I did hear them. Mayn’t it, Superintendent?” She appealed to Alleyn.

  “I haven’t risen to superintendent heights, Miss Lee. But please do tell me what you heard.”

  “As a matter of fact, it wasn’t very much, but it was exciting. Garcia said: ‘All right — on Friday night, then.’ And Sonia said:‘Yes, if it’s possible.’ Then there was quite a long pause and she said: ‘I won’t stand for any funny business with her, you know.‘ And Garcia said: ‘Who?’ and she said — I’m sorry, Mr. Alleyn — but she said: ‘The Seacliff bitch, of course.’ ” Miss Lee turned pink. “I am sorry, Mr. Alleyn.”

  “Miss Seacliff will understand the exigencies of a verbatim report,” said Alleyn with the faintest possible twinkle.

  “Oh, I’ve heard all about it. She knew what he was up to, of course,” said Valmai Seacliff. She produced a lipstick and mirror and, with absorbed attention, made up her lovely mouth.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the swine was pestering you?” Pilgrim asked her.

  “My sweet — I could manage Garcia perfectly well,” said Seacliff with a little chuckle.

  “Anything more, Miss Lee?” asked Alleyn.

  “Well, yes. Sonia suddenly began to cry and say Garcia ought to marry her. He said nothing. She said something about Friday evening again, and she said if he let her down after that she’d go to Troy and tell her the whole story. Garcia just said — Mr. Alleyn, he just sort of grunted it, but honestly it sounded frightful. Truly. And she didn’t say another thing. I think she was terrified — really!”

  “But you haven’t told us what he did say, you know.”

  “Well, he said: ‘If you don’t shut up and leave me to get on with my work, I’ll bloody well stop your mouth for keeps. Do what I tell you. Get out!’ There!” ended Miss Lee triumphantly.

  “Have you discussed this incident with anyone else?”

  “I told Seacliff, in confidence.”

  “I advised her to regard it as nobody’s business but theirs,” said Seacliff.

  “Well — I thought somebody ought to know.”

  “I said,” added Seacliff, “that if she still felt all repressed and congested, she could tell Troy.”

  “Did you follow this excellent advice, Miss Lee?”

  “No — I didn’t — because — well, because I thought — I mean— ”

  “I have rather sharp views on gossip,” said Troy dryly. “And even sharper views on listening-in. Possibly she realised this.” She stared coldly at Miss Lee, who turned very pink indeed.

  “How did this incident terminate?” asked Alleyn.

  “Well, I made a bangy sort of noise with the door to show I was there, and they stopped. And I didn’t eavesdrop, Miss Troy, truly. I just rooted to the ground with horror. It all sounded so sinister. And now see what’s happened!”

  Troy looked up at Alleyn. Suddenly she grinned, and Alleyn felt a sort of thump in his chest. “Oh God,” he thought urgently, “what am I going to do about this? I didn’t want to lose my heart.” He looked away quickly.

  “Are there any other incidents of any sort that might have some bearing on this tragedy?” he asked at large.

  Nobody answered.

  “Then I shall ask you all to stay in here for a little while longer. I want to see each of you separately, before we close down to-night. Miss Troy, will you allow us to use a separate room as a temporary office? I am sorry to give so much trouble.”

  “Certainly,” said Troy. “I’ll show you— ”

  She led the way to the door and went into the hall without waiting for them. Alleyn and Fox followed, leaving the local man behind. When the door had shut behind them Alleyn said to Fox:

  “Get through to the Yard, Fox. We’ll have to warn all stations about Garcia. If he’s tramping, he can’t have walked so far in three days. If he’s bolted, he may be anywhere by now. I’ll try and get hold of a photograph. We’d better broadcast, I think. Make sure nobody’s listening when you telephone. Tell them to get in touch with the city. We must find this warehouse. Then see the maids. Ask if they know anything at all about the studio on Friday night and Saturday morning. Come along to the drawing-room when you’ve finished, will you?”

  “Right, sir. I’ll just ask this P.C. where the telephone hangs out.”

  Fox turned back, and Alleyn moved on to the end of the hall, where Troy waited in a pool of light that came from the library.

  “In here,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She was tur
ning away as Alleyn said:

  “May I keep you a moment?”

  He stood aside for her to go through the door. They returned to the fire. Troy got a couple of logs from’the wood basket.

  “Let me do that,” Alleyn said.

  “It’s all right.”

  She pitched the logs on the fire and dusted her hands.

  “There are cigarettes on that table, Mr. Alleyn. Will you have one?”

  He lit her cigarette and his own and they sat down.

  “What now?” asked Troy.

  “I want you to tell me exactly what you did from the time you left the studio on Friday at noon until the class assembled this morning.”

  “An alibi?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think for a moment,” said Troy, in a level voice, “that I might have killed this girl?”

  “Not for a moment,” answered Alleyn.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have asked you that. I’m sorry. Shall I begin with the time I got up to the house?”

  “Yes, please,” said Alleyn.

  He thought she was very stiff with him and supposed she resented the very sight of himself and everything he stood for. It did not occur to Alleyn that his refusal to answer that friendly grin had sent up all Troy’s defences. Where women were concerned he was, perhaps, unusually intelligent and intuitive, but the whole of this case is coloured by his extraordinary wrong-headedness over Troy’s attitude towards himself. He afterwards told Nigel Bathgate that he was quite unable to bring Troy into focus with the case. To Troy it seemed that he treated her with an official detachment that was a direct refusal to acknowledge any former friendliness. She told herself, with a sick feeling of shame, that he had probably thought she pursued him in the ship. He had consented to sit to her, with a secret conviction that she hoped it might lead to a flirtation. “Or,” thought Troy, deliberately jabbing at the nerve, “he probably decided I was fishing for a sale.”

  Now, on this first evening at Tatler’s End House, they treated each other to displays of frigid courtesy. Troy, summoning her wits, began an account of her week-end activities.

  “I came up to the house, washed, changed and lunched. After lunch, as far as I remember, Katti and I sat in here and smoked. Then we went round to the garage, got the car, and drove up to our club in London. It’s the United Arts. We got there about four o’clock, had tea with some people we ran into in the club, shopped for an hour afterwards, and got back to the club about six, I should think. I bathed, changed and met Katti in the lounge. We had a cocktail and then dined with the Arthur Jayneses. It was a party of six. He’s president of the Phoenix Group. From there we all went to the private view. We supped at the Hungaria with the Jayneses. I got back to the club somewhere round two o’clock. On Saturday I had my hair done at Cattcherly’s in Bond Street. Katti and I had another look at the show. I lunched early at the Ritz with a man called John Bellasca. Then I picked Katti up at the club and we got back here about three.”

  “Did you go down to the studio?”

  “Yes. I went there to collect my sketch-box. I wanted to see what materials I had and tidy it up. I was going to work out of doors on Sunday. I brought the box in here and spent the afternoon at different tidying jobs. After that Katti and I went for a walk to look for a subject. We dined out. I asked when we got here on Saturday if Garcia had gone, and the maids told me he hadn’t been in to breakfast or lunch, so I supposed he had pushed off at daybreak. They had sent his dinner down to the studio the night before — Friday night. It was easier than having it up here. He sleeps in the studio, you know.”

  “Why was that?”

  “It was advisable. I didn’t want him in the house. You’ve heard what he’s like with women.”

  “I see. On Saturday were you long in the studio?”

  “No. I simply got my sketch-box. I was painting out of doors.”

  “Anyone go in with you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you notice the drape?”

  Troy leant forward, her cropped head between two clenched fists.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to remember ever since Hatchett said it was stretched out when he saw it on Sunday.

  “Give me a moment. I went straight to my cupboard behind the door and got out my sketching gear. I had a look in the box and found there was no turpentine in the bottle, so I took it to the junk-room and filled it up. Then I came back to the studio and — yes, yes!”

  “You’ve remembered it?”

  “Yes. I–I must tell you I hadn’t screwed myself up to looking at the portrait of Seacliff again. Not since I first saw what Sonia had done to it. I just turned it face to the wall behind the throne. Well, I saw it when I came out of the junk-room, and I thought: ‘I can’t go on cutting it dead. It can’t stand there for ever, giving me queasy horrors whenever I catch sight of it.’ So I began to walk towards it, and I got as far as the edge of the throne, and I remember now quite clearly I walked carefully round the drape, so as not to disturb it, and I noticed, without noticing, don’t you know, that the silk was in position — stretched straight from the cushion and pinned to the floor of the throne. You may have noticed that it was caught with a safety-pin to the top of the cushion. That was to prevent it slipping off when she lay down on it. It was fixed lightly to the floor with a drawing-pin that flew out when the drape took her weight. The whole idea was to get the accidental swill of the silk round the figure. It was stretched out like that when I saw it.”

  “I needn’t tell you the significance of this,” said Alleyn, slowly. “You are absolutely certain the drape was in position?”

  “Yes. I’d swear to it.”

  “And did you look at the portrait of Miss Seacliff?”

  Troy turned her face away from him.

  “No,” she said gruffly, “I funked it. Poor sort of business, wasn’t it?” She laughed shortly.

  Alleyn made a quick movement, stopped himself, and said: “I don’t think so. Did either of you go down to the studio at any time during yesterday, do you know?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t, and Katti had an article to do for The Palette and was writing in the library all day. She’s got a series of articles on the Italian primitives running in The Palette. You’d better ask her about yesterday.”

  “I will. To return to your own movements. You went out to paint in the garden?”

  “Yes. At eleven o’clock. The Bossicote church bell had just stopped. I worked till about two o’clock and came in for a late lunch. After lunch I cleaned up my brushes at the house. I hadn’t gone to the studio. Katti and I had a good glare at my sketch, and then she read over her article and began to type it. I sat in here, working out an idea for a decorative panel on odd bits of paper. Seacliff and Pilgrim arrived in his car for tea at five, and the others came by the six o’clock bus.”

  “Sonia Gluck with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you all spend the evening together?”

  “The class has a sort of common-room at the back of the house. In my grandfather’s day it was really a kind of ballroom, but when my father lost most of his money, part of the house was shut up, including this place. I had a lot of odds and ends of furniture put into it and let them use it. It’s behind the dining-room, at the end of an odd little passage. They all went in there after dinner on Sunday — yesterday — evening. I looked in for a little while.”

  “They were all there?”

  “I think so. Pilgrim and Seacliff wandered out through the french window into the garden. I suppose they wanted to enjoy the amenities of betrothal.”

  Alleyn laughed unexpectedly. He had a very pleasant laugh.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Troy.

  ‘“The amenities of betrothal,’” quoted Alleyn.

  “Well, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Such a grand little phrase!”

  For a moment there was no constraint between them. They looked at each other as
if they were old friends.

  “Well,” said Troy, “they came back looking very smug and complacent and self-conscious, and all the others were rather funny about it. Except Sonia, who looked like thunder. It’s quite true, what Seacliff says. Sonia, you see, was the main attraction last year, as far as the men-students were concerned. She used to hold a sort of court in the rest-times and fancied herself as a Bohemian siren, poor little idiot. Then Seacliff came and wiped her eye. She was beside herself with chagrin. You’ve seen what Seacliff is like. She doesn’t exactly disguise the fact that she is attractive to men, does she? Katti says she’s a successful nymphomaniac.”

  “Pilgrim seems an honest-to-God sort of fellow.”

  “He’s a nice fellow, Pilgrim.”

  “Do you approve of the engagement?”

  “No, I don’t. I think she’s after his title.”

  “You don’t mean to say he’s a son of the Methodist peer?”

  “Yes, he is. And the Methodist peer may leave us for crowns and harps any moment now. The old gentlemen’s failing.”

  “I see.”

  “As a matter of fact—” Troy hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know that it matters.”

  “Please, tell me anything you can think of.”

  “You may attach too much importance to it.”

  “We are warned against that at the Yard, you know.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Troy stiffly. “I was merely going to say that I thought Basil Pilgrim had been worried about something since his engagement.”

  “Have you any idea what it was?”

  “I thought at first it might have been his father’s illness, but somehow I don’t think it was that.”

  “Perhaps he has already regretted his choice. The trapped feeling.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Troy still more stiffly. “I fancy it was something to do with Sonia.”

  “With the model?”

  “I simply meant that I thought he felt uncomfortable about Sonia. She was always uttering little jeers about engaged couples. I think they made Pilgrim feel uncomfortable.”

  “Do you imagine there has ever been anything between Pilgrim and Sonia Gluck?”