Читать книгу Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 11: Photo-Finish, Light Thickens, Black Beech and Honeydew - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 17

‘I don’t think,’ Alleyn said, ‘we should jump to alarming conclusions about this but certainly it should be followed up. I imagine,’ he said drily, ‘that anything to do with photography is a tricky subject at the Lodge.’

‘With some cause,’ said Mr Reece.

‘Indeed. Now then, Marco. You’ve given us a very clear account of what happened and you’ll think I’m being unduly fussy if we go over it all again.’

Marco spread his hands as if offering him the earth.

‘First of all, then: this man. Are you sure it wasn’t one of the guests or one of the staff?’

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ said Marco rapidly, shaking his finger sideways as if a wasp had stung it. ‘Not possible. No!’

‘Not, for instance, the launchman?’

‘No, sir. No! Not anyone of the household. I am certain. I would swear it.’

‘Dark or fair?’

‘Fair. Bareheaded. Fair. Certainly a blond.’

‘And bare to the waist?’

‘Of course. Certainly.’

‘Not even a camera slung over his shoulder?’

Marco closed his eyes, bunched his fingers and laid the tips to his forehead. He remained like that for some seconds.

‘Well? What about it?’ Mr Reece asked a trifle impatiently.

Marco opened his eyes and unbunched his fingers. ‘It could have been in his hands,’ he said.

‘This path,’ Alleyn said. ‘The regular approach from the front of the house round to the hangar. As I recollect, it passes by the windows of the concert chamber?’

‘Certainly,’ Mr Reece said and nodded very slightly at Alleyn. ‘And this afternoon they were not curtained.’

‘And open?’

‘And open.’

‘Marco,’ Alleyn said, ‘did you at any point hear anything going on in the concert chamber?’

‘But yes!’ Marco cried, staring at him. ‘Madame, sir. It was Madame. She sang. With the voice of an angel.’

‘Ah.’

‘She was singing still, sir, when I returned to the clearing.’

‘After you found this cap, did you go on to the lakeside?’

‘Not quite to the lakeside, sir, but far enough out of the bush to see that he was not there. And then I thought I should not continue but that I should report at once to Signor Reece. And that is what I did.’

‘Very properly.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And I,’ said Mr Reece, ‘have sent the house staff to search the grounds, and most of the guests.’

‘If I remember correctly,’ Alleyn said, ‘at the point where Marco emerged from the bush it is only a comparatively short distance across from the Island to that narrow tree-clad spit that reaches out from the mainland towards the Island and is linked to it by your power lines?’

‘You suggest he might have swum it?’ Mr Reece asked.

‘No, sir,’ Marco intervened. ‘Not possible. I would have seen him.’ He stopped and then asked with a change of voice. ‘Or would I?’

‘If he’s on the Island he will be found,’ said Mr Reece coldly. And then to Alleyn: ‘You were right to say we should not make too much of this incident. It will probably turn out to be some young hoodlum or another with a camera. But it is a nuisance. Bella has been very much upset by this Strix and his activities. If she hears of it she might well begin to imagine all sorts of things. I suggest we say nothing of it to the guests and performers. You hear that, Marco?’

Marco was all acquiescence.

Alleyn thought that if what was no doubt a completely uncoordinated search was thundering about the premises the chances of keeping the affair secret were extremely slender. But, he reminded himself, for the present the rehearsal should be engaging everybody’s attention.

When he had gone, Mr Reece, with a nearer approach to cosiness than Alleyn would have thought within his command, said: ‘What do you make of all that? Simply a loutish trespasser or – something else?’

‘Impossible to say. Is it pretty widely known in New Zealand that Madame Sommita is your guest?’

‘Oh yes. One tries to circumvent the press but one never totally succeeds. It has come out. There have been articles about the Lodge itself and there are pressmen who try to bribe the launchman to bring them over. He is paid a grotesquely high wage and has the sense to refuse. I must say,’ Mr Reece confided, ‘it would be very much in character for one of these persons to skulk about the place, having, by whatever means, swimming perhaps, got himself on the Island. The hangar would be a likely spot, one might think, for him to hide.’

‘He would hear the rehearsal from there.’

‘Precisely. And await his chance to come out and take a photograph through an open window. It’s possible. As long,’ Mr Reece said, and actually struck his right fist into his left palm, ‘as long as it isn’t that filthy Strix at it again. Anything rather than that.’

‘Will you tell me something about your staff? You’ve asked me to do my constabulary stuff and this would be a routine question.’

‘Ned Hanley is better qualified than I to answer it. He came over here from Australia and saw to it. An over-ambitious hotel had gone into liquidation. He engaged eight of the staff and a housekeeper for the time we shall be using the Lodge. Marco was not one of these but we had excellent references, I understand. Ned would tell you.’

‘An Italian, of course?’

‘Oh yes. But a naturalized Australian. He made a great thing, just now, of his story but I would think it was substantially correct. I’m hoping the guests and performers will not, if they do get hold of the story, start jumping to hysterical conclusions. Perhaps we should let it be known quite casually that a boy had swum across and has been sent packing. What do you think?’

Before Alleyn could answer, the door opened and Signor Beppo Lattienzo entered. His immaculate white shorts and silken matelot were in disarray and he sweated copiously.

‘My dears!’ he said. ‘Drama! The hunt is up. The Hound of Heaven itself – or should I say Himself? – could not be more diligent.’

He dropped into a chair and fanned himself with an open palm. ‘“Over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier,” as the industrious fairy remarks and so do I. What fun to be known as “The Industrious Fairy”,’ panted Signor Lattienzo coyly.

‘Any luck?’ Alleyn asked.

‘Not a morsel. The faithful Maria, my dear Monty, is indomitable. Into the underbrush with the best of us. She has left her hairnet as a votive offering on a thorny entanglement known, I am informed, as a Bush Lawyer.’

Signor Lattienzo smiled blandly at Mr Reece and tipped Alleyn a lewdish wink. ‘This,’ he remarked, ‘will not please our diva, no? And if we are to speak of hounds and of persistence, how about the intrepid Strix? What zeal! What devotion! Though she flee to the remotest antipodes, though she, as it were, to go to earth (in, one must add, the greatest possible comfort) upon an enchanted island, there shall he nose her out. One can only applaud. Admit it, my dear Monty.’

Mr Reece said: ‘Beppo, there is no reason to suppose that the man Strix has had any part in this incident. The idea is ridiculous and I am most anxious that Bella should not entertain it. It is a trivial matter involving some local lout and must not be blown up into a ridiculous drama. You know very well, none better, how she can overreact and after last night’s shock – I really must ask you to use the greatest discretion.’

Signor Lattienzo wiped the sweat away from the area round his left eye. He breathed upon his glass, polished it and with its aid contemplated his host. ‘But, of course, my dear Monty,’ he said quietly, ‘I understand. Perfectly. I dismiss the photographer. Poof! He is gone. And now –’

The door burst open and Ben Ruby strode in. He also showed signs of wear and tear.

‘Here! Monty!’ he shouted. ‘What the hell’s the idea? These servants of yours are all saying bloody Strix is back and you ought to call in the police. What about it?’