He had leant forward and for a minute or two he was busy. Then he drew back. He stretched out his hand as if to close the lids over the congested eyes. His fingers trembled.
He said: ‘I mustn’t touch him any more.’ He drew his hand away and backed out of the taxi. The sergeant was staring in astonishment at his face.
‘Dead,’ said the taxi-driver. ‘Ain’t he?’
‘—you!’ said Alleyn with a violent oath. ‘Can’t I see he’s dead without—’
He broke off and took three or four uncertain steps away from them. He passed his hand over his face and then stared at his fingers with an air of bewilderment.
‘Wait a moment, will you?’ he said.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alleyn at last. ‘Give me a moment.’
‘Shall I get someone else, sir?’ asked the sergeant. ‘It’s a friend of yours, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘It’s a friend of mine.’
He turned on the taxi-driver and took him fiercely by the arm.
‘Come here,’ he said and marched him to the front of the car.
‘Switch on the headlights,’ he said.
The sergeant reached inside the taxi and in a moment the driver stood blinking in a white flood of light.
‘Now,’ said Alleyn. ‘Why are you so certain it was murder?’
‘Gorblimy, governor,’ said the driver, ‘ain’t I seen wiv me own eyes ’ow the ovver bloke gets in wiv ‘im, and ain’t I seen wiv me own eyes ‘ow the ovver bloke gets out at ‘is lordship’s ‘ouse dressed up in ‘is lordship’s cloak and ‘at and squeaks at me in a rum little voice same as ’is lordship: “Sixty-three Jobbers Row, Queens Gate”? Ain’t I driven ’is corpse all the way there, not knowing? ‘Ere! You say ‘is lordship was a friend of yours. So ‘e was o’ mine. This is bloody murder, this is, and I want to see this Mr Clever, what’s diddled me and done in as nice a little gent as ever I see, swing for it. That’s me.’
‘I see,’ said Alleyn. ‘All right. I’ll get a statement from you. We must get to work. Call up the usual lot. Get them all here. Get Dr Curtis. Photograph the body from every angle. Note the position of the head. Look for signs of violence. Routine. Case of homicide. Take the name, will you? Lord Robert Gospell, two hundred Cheyne Walk—’
LORD ROBERT GOSPELL DIES IN TAXI
Society Shocked. Foul Play Suspected
Full Story of Ball on Page 5
Evelyn Carrados let the paper fall on the counterpane and stared at her husband.
‘The papers are full of it,’ she said woodenly.
‘Good God, my dear Evelyn, of course they are! And this is only the ten o’clock racing edition brought in by a damn pup of a footman with my breakfast. Wait till we see the evening papers! Isn’t it enough, my God, that I should be rung up by some jack-in-office from Scotland Yard at five o’clock in the morning and cross-exam-ined about my own guests without having the whole thing thrust under my nose in some insulting bloody broadsheet!’
He limped angrily about the room.
‘It’s perfectly obvious that the man has been murdered. Do you realize that at any moment we’ll have some damned fellow from Scotland Yard cross-questioning us and that all the scavengers in Fleet Street will be hanging about our door for days together? Do you realize—’
‘I think he was perhaps my greatest friend,’ said Evelyn Carrados.
‘If you look at their damned impertinent drivel on page five you will see the friendship well advertised. My God, it’s intolerable. Do you realize that the police rang up Marsdon House at quarter-past four—five minutes after we’d gone, thank God!—and asked when Robert Gospell left? Some fellow of Dimitri’s answered them and now a blasted snivelling journalist has got hold of it. Do you realize—’
‘I only realize,’ said Evelyn Carrados, ‘that Bunchy Gospell is dead.’
Bridget burst into the room, a paper in her hands.
‘Donna! Oh, Donna—it’s our funny little Bunchy. Our funny little Bunchy’s dead! Donna!’
‘Darling—I know.’
‘But, Donna—Bunchy!’
‘Bridget,’ said her stepfather, ‘please don’t be hysterical. The point we have to consider is—’
Bridget’s arm went round her mother’s shoulders.
‘But we mind’ she said. ‘Can’t you see—Donna minds awfully.’
Her mother said: ‘Of course we mind, darling, but Bart’s thinking about something else. You see, Bart thinks there will be dreadful trouble—’
‘About what?’
Bridget’s eyes blazed in her white face as she turned on Carrados.
‘Do you mean Donald? Do you? Do you dare to suggest that Donald would—would—’
‘Bridgie!’ cried her mother, ‘what are you saying!’
‘Wait a moment, Evelyn,’ said Carrados. ‘What is all this about young Potter?’
Bridget pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, looked distractedly from her mother to her stepfather, burst into tears and ran out of the room.
II
‘BUNCHY’ GOSPELL DEAD
Mysterious death in Taxi
Sequel to the Carrados Ball
Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s beautifully manicured hands closed like claws on the newspaper. Her lips were stretched in a smile that emphasized the carefully suppressed lines from her nostrils to the corners of her mouth. She stared at nothing.
General Halcut-Hackett’s dressing-room door was flung open and the General, wearing a dressing-gown but few teeth, marched into the room. He carried a copy of a ten o’clock sporting edition.
‘What!’ he shouted indistinctly. ‘See here! By God!’
‘I know,’ said Mrs Halcut-Hackett. ‘Sad, isn’t it?’
‘Sad! Bloody outrage! What!’
‘Shocking,’
