man saluted.
‘They’re expecting you, sir.’
The gate swung open, and Alleyn slipped in his clutch. It was a long winding drive, and it seemed an age before he pulled up before a lighted door. A second constable met him and showed him into a pleasant hall where a large fire burned.
‘I’ll tell the superintendent you’ve arrived, sir,’ said the man, but as he spoke, a door on Alleyn’s left opened and a stout man with a scarlet face came out.
‘Hullo, hullo! This is very nice. Haven’t seen you for ages.’
‘Not for ages,’ said Alleyn. They shook hands. Blackman had been superintendent at Bossicote for six years, and he and Alleyn were old acquaintances. ‘I hope I haven’t been too long.’
‘You’ve been very quick indeed, Mr Alleyn. We only rang the Yard half an hour ago. They told us you were staying with her ladyship. Come in here, will you?’
He led the way into a charming little drawing-room with pale-grey walls and cerise-and-lemon-striped curtains.
‘How much did they tell you from the Yard?’
‘Only that a model had been knifed.’
‘Yes. Very peculiar business. I don’t mind telling you I’d have liked to tackle it myself, but we’ve got our hands full with a big burglary case over at Ronald’s Cross, and I’m short-staffed just now. So the Chief Constable thought, all things considered, and you being so handy, it’d better be the Yard. He’s just gone. Sit down, and I’ll give you the story before we look at the body and so on. That suit you?’
‘Admirably,’ said Alleyn.
Blackman opened a fat pocketbook, settled his chins, and began.
‘This property, Tatler’s End House, is owned and occupied by Miss Agatha Troy, R.A., who returned here after a year’s absence abroad, on September 3rd. During her absence the house was occupied by a Miss Katti Bostock, another painter. Miss Troy arranged by letter to take eight resident pupils from September to December, and all of these were already staying in the house when she arrived. There was also a Sonia Gluck, spinster aged 22, an artist’s model, engaged by Miss Bostock for the coming term. The classes began officially on the 10th, but they had all been more or less working together since the 3rd. From the 10th to Friday the 16th they worked from the model every morning in the studio. On the 16th, three days ago, the class disbanded for the weekend, in order that members might attend a function in London. The servants were given Friday night off, and went to a cinema in Baxtonbridge. One student, Wolf Garcia, no permanent address, remained alone in the studio. The house was closed. Garcia is believed to have left on Saturday the 17th, the day before yesterday. Miss Troy returned on Saturday at midday and found Garcia had gone. The others came back on Sunday, yesterday, by car, and by the evening bus. This morning, September 19th, the class reassembled in the studio, which is a detached building situated about a hundred yards to the south-east of the rear eastward corner of the house. Here’s the sketch plan of the house and studio,’ said the superintendent in a more normal voice. ‘And here’s another of the studio interior.’
‘Splendid,’ said Alleyn, and spread them out before him on a small table. Mr Blackman coughed and took up the burden of his recital.
‘At ten-thirty the class, with the exception of Garcia, who, as we have seen, had left, was ready to begin work. Miss Troy had given instructions that they were to start without her. This is her usual practice, except on the occasions when a new pose is to be set. The model lay down to resume the pose which she had been taking since September 10th. It was a recumbent position on her back. She lay half on a piece of silk material and half on the bare boards of the dais known as the model’s “throne”. The model was undraped. She lay first of all on her right side. One of the students, Miss Valmai Seacliff, of No. 8, Partington Mews, WC4, approached the model, placed her hands on Gluck’s shoulders and thrust the left shoulder firmly over and down. This was the usual procedure. Gluck cried out “Don’t!” as if in pain, but as she habitually objected to the pose, Miss Seacliff paid no attention, shifted her hands to the model’s chest, and pressed down. Gluck made another sound, described by Miss Seacliff as a moan, and seemed to jerk and then relax. Miss Seacliff then said: “Oh, don’t be such a fool, Sonia,” and was about to rise from her stooping posture when she noticed that Gluck was in an abnormal condition. She called for the others to come. Miss Katti Bostock followed by two students, Mr Watt Hatchett, an Australian, and Mr Francis Ormerin, a Frenchman, approached the throne. Hatchett said: “She’s taken a fit.” Miss Bostock said: “Get out of the way.” She examined the body. She states that the eyelids fluttered and the limbs jerked slightly. Miss Bostock attempted to raise Gluck. She placed her hand behind the shoulders and pulled. There was a certain amount of resistance, but after a few seconds the body came up suddenly. Miss Seacliff cried out loudly that there was blood on the blue silk drape. Mr Ormerin said: “Mong dew, the knife!”’
Mr Blackman cleared his throat and turned a page.
‘It was then seen that a thin triangular blade protruded vertically through the drape. It appeared to be the blade of some sort of dagger that had been driven through a crack in the dais from underneath. It has not been moved. It seems that later on, when Miss Troy arrived, she stopped anybody from touching the dais as soon as she saw what had occurred. On examining Gluck a wound was discovered in the back somewhere about the position of the fourth rib and about three inches to the left of the spine. There was an effusion of blood. The blade was stained with blood. Miss Bostock attempted to staunch the wound with a rag. At this point Miss Troy arrived, and immediately sent Mr Basil Pilgrim, another student, to ring up the doctor. Dr Ampthill arrived ten minutes later and found life was extinct. Miss Troy states that Gluck died a few minutes after she—Miss Troy—arrived at the studio. Gluck made no statement before she died.’
Mr Blackman closed his notebook, and laid it on the table.
‘That’s just from notes,’ he said modestly. ‘I haven’t got it down in a ship-shape report yet.’
‘It is sufficiently clear,’ said Alleyn. ‘You might have been giving it to a jury.’
An expression of solemn complacency settled down among the superintendent’s chins.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we haven’t had a great deal of time. It’s a curious business. We’ve taken statements from all this crowd, except, of course, the man called Garcia. He’s gone, and we haven’t got a line on him. That looks a bit funny on the face of it, but it seems he said he’d be leaving for a hiking trip on Saturday morning, and is due to turn up at some place in London in about a week’s time. He left his luggage to be forwarded to this London address, and it had all gone when Miss Troy returned on Saturday about three o’clock. We’re trying to get on to the carrier that called for it, but haven’t got hold of anybody yet. It was all in the studio. It seems Garcia slept in the studio and had his gear there. I’ve got into touch with the police stations for fifty miles round and asked them to look out for this Garcia. Here’s the description of him: Height— about five foot nine; sallow complexion, dark eyes, very thin. Thick dark hair, rather long. Usually dressed in old grey flannel trousers and a raincoat. Does not wear a hat. Probably carrying a rucksack containing painting materials. It seems he does a bit of sketching as well as sculping. We got that in the course of the statements made by the rest of this crowd. Will you look at the statements before you see anybody?’
Alleyn thought for moment.
‘I’ll see Miss Troy first,’ he said. ‘I have met her before.’
‘Have
