Читать книгу Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 7: Off With His Head, Singing in the Shrouds, False Scent - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 32

The five Andersens, bunched together in their cold smithy, contemplated Sergeant Obby. Chris, the belligerent brother, slightly hitched his trousers and placed himself before the sergeant. They were big men and of equal height.

‘Look yur,’ Chris said, ‘Bob Obby. Us chaps want to have a tell. Private.’

Without shifting his gaze, which was directed at some distant object above Chris’s head, Obby very slightly shook his own. Chris reddened angrily and Dan intervened:

‘No harm in that now, Bob: natural as the day, seeing what’s happened.’

‘You know us,’ the gentle Andy urged. ‘Soft as doves so long’s we’re easy-handled. Harmless.’

‘But mortal set,’ Nat added, ‘on our own ways. That’s us. Come on, now, Bob.’

Sergeant Obby pursed his lips and again shook his head.

Chris burst out: ‘If you’re afraid we’ll break one of your paltry by-laws you can watch us through the bloody winder.’

‘But out of earshot, in simple decency,’ Nat pursued, ‘for ten minutes you’re axed to shift. Now!’

After a longish pause and from behind an expressionless face, Obby said: ‘Can’t be done, souls.’

Ernie broke into aimless laughter.

‘Why, you damned fool,’ Chris shouted at Obby, ‘what’s gone with you? D’you reckon one of us done it!’

‘Not for me to say,’ Obby primly rejoined, ‘and I’m sure I hope you’re all as innocent as new-born babes. But I got my duty which is to keep observation on the whole boiling of you guilty or not, as the case may be.’

‘We got to talk PRIVATE!’ Chris shouted. ‘We got to.’ Sergeant Obby produced his notebook.

‘No got about it,’ he said. ‘Not in the view of the law.’

‘To oblige, then?’ Andy urged.

‘The suggestion,’ Obby said, ‘is unworthy of you, Andrew.’

He opened his book and licked his pencil.

‘What’s that for?’ Chris demanded.

Obby looked steadily at him and made a note.

‘Get out!’ Chris roared.

‘That’s a type of remark that does an innocent party no good,’ Obby told him. ‘Let alone a guilty.’

‘What the hell d’you mean be that?’

‘Ax yourself.’

‘Are you trying to let on you reckon one of us is a guilty party? Come on. Are you?’

‘Any such caper on my part would be dead against the regulations,’ Obby said stuffily.

‘Then why do you pick on me to take down in writing? What ’ave I done?’

‘Only yourself and your Maker,’ Obby remarked, ‘knows the answer to that one.’

‘And me,’ Ernie announced unexpectedly. ‘I know.’

Sergeant Obby became quite unnaturally still. The Andersens, too, seemed to be suspended in a sudden, fierce attentiveness. After a considerable pause, Obby said: ‘What might you know, then, Ernest?’

‘Ar-ar-ar! That’d be telling!’

‘So it would,’ Chris said shortly. ‘So shut your big silly mouth and forget it.’

‘No, you don’t, Christopher,’ Obby rejoined. ‘If Ern’s minded to pass a remark, he’s at liberty to do so. Speak up, Ernest. What was you going to say? You don’t,’ Obby added hastily, ‘have to talk, if you don’t want to. I’m here to see fair play. What’s on your mind, Ernest?’

Ernie dodged his head and looked slyly at his brothers. He began to laugh with the grotesquerie of his kind. He half shut his eyes and choked over his words. ‘What price Sunday, then? What price Chrissie and the Guiser? What price you know who?’

He doubled himself up in an ecstasy of bucolic enjoyment. ‘How’s Trix?’ he squeaked and gave a shrill cat-call. ‘Poor old Chrissie.’ He exulted.

Chris said savagely: ‘Do you want the hide taken off you?’

‘When’s the wedding, then?’ Ernie asked, dodging behind Andy. ‘Nothing to hold you now, is there?’

‘By God – !’ Chris shouted and lunged forward. Andy laid his hands on Chris’s chest.

‘Steady, naow, Chris, boy, steady,’ Andy begged him.

‘And you, Ernie,’ Dan added, ‘you do like what Chris says and shut your mouth.’ He turned to Obby. ‘You know damn well what he’s like. Silly as a sheep. You didn’t ought to encourage him. ’Tain’t neighbourly.’

Obby completed his notes and put up his book. He looked steadily from one of the Andersens to another. Finally, he addressed himself to them collectively.

‘Neighbourliness,’ he said, ‘doesn’t feature in this job. I don’t say I like it that way, but that’s the way it is. I don’t say if I could get a transfer at this moment I wouldn’t take it and pleased to do so. But I can’t, and that being so, souls, here I stick according to orders.’ He paused and buttoned his pocket over his notebook. ‘Your dad,’ he said, ‘was a masterpiece. Put me up for the Lodge did your dad. Worth any two of you, if you’ll overlook the bluntness. And, unpleasant though it may be to contemplate, whoever done him in, ghastly and brutal, deserves what he’ll get. I said “whoever”,’ Sergeant Obby repeated with sledgehammer emphasis and let his gaze dwell in a leisurely manner, first on Ernest Andersen and then on Chris.

‘All right. All right,’ Dan said disgustedly. ‘Us all knows you’re a monument.’

Nat burst out: ‘What d’you think we are, then? Don’t you reckon we’re all burning fiery hot to lay our hands on the bastard that done it? Doan’t you!’

‘Since you ax me,’ Sergeant Obby said thoughtfully, ‘no. Not all of you. No, I don’t.’