definite instructions that he was not to be worried about the case. In view of the most extraordinary circumstances and also of Sir Hubert’s position, the local office decided to approach Scotland Yard.’ Doctor Young stopped talking suddenly as if someone had turned his voice off at the main. He then made a deep, uncomfortable noise in his throat, a noise that sounded like ‘Kaahoom’.
‘The body?’ queried Inspector Alleyn.
The constable and the doctor began to speak together.
‘Beg parding, doctor,’ said PC Bunce.
‘It has been moved into the study,’ explained the doctor; ‘it had already been greatly disturbed. I could see no point in leaving it here—in the hall—very difficult.’
‘Greatly disturbed? By whom? But let me have the whole story. Shall we sit down, Doctor Young? I really know nothing of the case.’
They sat down before the great fireplace, where only twelve hours ago Rankin had warmed himself as he told one of his ‘pre-prandial’ stories.
‘The victim’s name,’ began Doctor Young in a businesslike voice, ‘was Rankin. He was one of a party of five guests spending the weekend with Sir Hubert Handesley and his niece. They had been playing one of these new-fangled games, one called—’ he paused for a second—‘called “Murders”. You may have heard of it.’
‘Don’t play it myself,’ said Inspector Alleyn. ‘I’m not frightfully keen on busman’s holidays. But I think I know what you mean. Well?’
‘Well, I gather they were all dressing for dinner—you will hear all the details from the guests, of course—when the signal agreed upon was sounded, and on coming down they found not a sham but a real victim.’
‘Where was he lying?’
‘Over here.’ The doctor crossed the hall, and Inspector Alleyn followed him. The floor in front of the gong had been newly washed and smelt of disinfectant.
‘On his face?’
‘In the first instance, yes, but as I say, the body had been moved. A dagger, Russo-Chinese and his own property, had been driven in between the shoulders at such an angle that it had pierced the heart. Instantaneous.’
‘I see. It’s no good my making a song and dance about the moving of the body and washing the floor—now. The damage is done. You should never have allowed it, Doctor Young. Never, no matter how much the original position had been lost.’
Doctor Young looked extremely uncomfortable.
‘I am very sorry. Sir Hubert was most anxious—it was, it was very difficult. The body had been moved some considerable distance.’
‘Do you think I could have a word with Sir Hubert,’ asked Alleyn—‘before we go any further, I mean?’
‘I am sure you can presently. He is very much shocked, of course, and I have suggested his trying to rest for a couple of hours. His niece, Miss Angela North, is expecting you, and is to let him know of your arrival. I’ll just find her.’
‘Thank you. By the way, where are the rest of the house-party?’
‘They’ve bin warned not to leave the house,’ said Mr Bunce capably, ‘and in addition they bin kept away from the hall and the drawing-room and asked particular to only frequent the library. Except for the floor being cleaned up nothing here’s bin touched, sir, nothing. And the drawing-room’s left just as it was too—just in case.’
‘Excellent; aren’t our policemen wonderful? And so they are—where?’
‘One of the ladies is in bed and the rest of the bunch is in the librar-rary,’ he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, ‘a-solving of the mystery.’
‘That should prove very interesting,’ said the inspector without any taint of irony in his pleasant voice. ‘If you would get Miss North, Doctor Young.’
The doctor hurried upstairs and the Law was left in possession.
Inspector Alleyn held a brief colloquy with his two subordinates.
‘If there has really been no interference, there ought to be something for you here, Bailey,’ he said to the fingerprint expert. ‘From information received we’ll want prints of the entire household. While I am seeing the people, get busy in here. And you, Sergeant Smith, get me a picture of the area where the body was found, and of course a photo of the body itself.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
PC Bunce listened appreciatively.
‘Ever had any dealings with a case of this sort before, constable?’ asked the inspector absent-mindedly.
‘Never, sir. Petty larceny’s the best they can do in these parts, with a smack of furious driving, and one haryplane smash three years ago. Bit of an ad. for the village if looked on in the right light. We’ve got a special reporter on the spot, too.’
‘Really! How do you mean?’
‘A Mr Bathgate, sir, of the Clarion. He’s staying here, sir.’
‘Singularly fortunate,’ said Inspector Alleyn drily.
‘Yes, sir. Here he is, sir.’
Angela came downstairs with the doctor and with Nigel. She was extremely white and had about her the pathetic dignity of the very young when they meet disaster with fortitude. Inspector Alleyn met her at the foot of the stairs.
‘I’m so sorry to have to bother you like this,’ he said, ‘but I understand from Doctor Young…’
‘Not a bit,’ said Angela. ‘We were expecting you. This is Mr Bathgate, who has been very kind about telegraphing and helping us. He is—he is Mr Rankin’s cousin.’
Nigel shook hands. Since he had seen Charles lying—empty, unmeaning, coldly remote—at his feet, he could feel neither sorrow nor horror—not even pity; and yet he supposed he had been fond of Charles.
‘I’m very sorry,’ said Inspector Alleyn; ‘this must have been distressing for you. May we go and talk somewhere?’
‘There’s no one in the drawing-room,’ said Angela. ‘Shall we go in there?’
They sat in the drawing-room where Charles Rankin had danced a tango with Mrs Wilde the previous afternoon. Between them Angela and Nigel recounted to the inspector the history of the Murder Game.
Angela had time for a good long stare at her first detective. Alleyn did not resemble a plain-clothes policeman, she felt sure, nor was he in the romantic manner—white faced and gimlet eyed. He looked like one of her Uncle Hubert’s friends, the sort that they knew would ‘do’ for house-parties. He was very tall, and lean, his hair was dark, and his eyes grey, with corners that turned down. They looked as if they would smile easily, but his mouth didn’t. ‘His hands and his voice are grand,’ thought Angela, and subconsciously she felt less miserable.
Angela told Nigel afterwards that she approved of Inspector Alleyn. He treated her with a complete absence of any show of personal
