‘Boomer,’ said Alleyn, ‘have they any cause to bear you a grudge?’
‘None whatever. Why?’
‘It’s simply a check-up. After all, it seems somebody tried to murder you at your party.’
‘Well, you won’t have any luck with them. If anything, they ought to feel grateful.’
‘Why?’
‘It is under my regime that they return. They had been rather abruptly treated by the previous government.’
‘When was the decision taken? To re-instate them?’
‘Let me see – a month ago, I should say. More, perhaps.’
‘But when I visited you three weeks ago I actually happened to see Sanskrit on the steps outside his erstwhile premises. The name had just been painted out.’
‘You’re wrong there, my dear Rory. It was, I expect, in process of being painted in again.’
‘I see,’ said Alleyn and was silent for some seconds. ‘Do you like them?’ he asked. ‘The Sanskrits?’
‘No,’ said The Boomer. ‘I find them disgusting.’
‘Well, then –?’
‘The man had been mistakenly expelled. He made out his case,’ The Boomer said with a curious air of restraint. ‘He has every reason to feel an obligation and none to feel animosity. You may dismiss him from your mind.’
‘Before I do, had he any reason to entertain personal animosity against the Ambassador?’
An even longer pause. ‘Reason? He? None,’ said The Boomer. ‘None whatever.’ And then: ‘I don’t know what is in your mind, Rory, but I’m sure that if you think this person could have committed the murder you are – you are – what is the phrase – you will get no joy from such a theory. But,’ he added with a return of his jovial manner, ‘we should not discuss these beastly affairs before Mrs Alleyn.’
‘She hasn’t heard us,’ said Alleyn simply. From where he sat he could see Troy at work. It was as if her response to her subject was distilled into some sort of essence that flowed down arm, hand and brush to take possession of the canvas. He had never seen her work so urgently. She was making that slight breathy noise that he used to say was her inspiration asking to be let out. And what she did was splendid: a mystery in the making. ‘She hadn’t heard us,’ he repeated.
‘Has she not?’ said The Boomer and added: ‘That, I understand. I understand it perfectly.’
And Alleyn experienced a swift upsurge of an emotion that he would have been hard put to it to define. ‘Do you Boomer?’ he said, ‘I believe you do.’
‘A fraction more to your left,’ said Troy. ‘Rory – if you could move your chair. That’s done it. Thank you.’
The Boomer patiently maintained his pose and as the minutes went by he and Alleyn had little more to say to each other. There was a kind of precarious restfulness between them.
Soon after half past six Troy said she needed her sitter no more for the present. The Boomer behaved nicely. He suggested that perhaps she would prefer that he didn’t see what was happening. She came out of a long stare at her canvas, put her hand in his arm and led him round to look at it, which he did in absolute silence.
‘I am greatly obliged to you,’ said The Boomer at last.
‘And I to you,’ said Troy. ‘Tomorrow morning, perhaps? While the paint is still wet?’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ promised The Boomer. ‘Everything else is cancelled and nothing is regretted,’ and he took his leave.
Alleyn escorted him to the studio door. The mlinzi stood at the foot of the steps. In descending Alleyn stumbled and lurched against him. The man gave an indrawn gasp, instantly repressed. Alleyn made remorseful noises and The Boomer, who had gone ahead, turned round.
Alleyn said: ‘I’ve been clumsy. I’ve hurt him. Do tell him I’m sorry’
‘He’ll survive!’ said The Boomer cheerfully. He said something to the man, who walked ahead into the house. The Boomer chuckled and laid his massive arm across Alleyn’s shoulders.
He said: ‘He really has a fractured collar-bone, you know. Ask Doctor Gomba or, if you like, have a look for yourself. But don’t go on concerning yourself over my mlinzi. Truly, it’s a waste of your valuable time.’
It struck Alleyn that if it came to being concerned, Mr Whipplestone and The Boomer in their several ways were equally worried about the well-being of their dependants. He said: ‘All right, all right. But it’s you who are my real headache. Look, for the last time, I most earnestly beg you to stop taking risks. I promise you, I honestly believe that there was a plot to kill you last night and that there’s every possibility that another attempt will be made.’
‘What form will it take do you suppose? A bomb?’
‘And you might be right at that. Are you sure, are you absolutely sure, there’s nobody at all dubious in the Embassy staff? The servants –’
‘I am sure. Not only did your tedious but worthy Gibson’s people search the Embassy but my own people did, too. Very, very thoroughly. There are no bombs. And there is not a servant there who is not above suspicion.’
‘How can you be so sure! If, for instance, a big enough bribe was offered –’
‘I shall never make you understand, my dear man. You don’t know what I am to my people. It would frighten them less to kill themselves than to touch me. I swear to you that if there was a plot to kill me, it was not organized or inspired by any of these people. No!’ he said and his extraordinary voice sounded like a gong. ‘Never! It is impossible. No!’
‘All right. I’ll accept that so long as you don’t admit unknown elements, you’re safe inside the Embassy. But for God’s sake don’t go taking that bloody hound for walks in the Park.’
He burst out laughing, ‘I am sorry,’ he said, actually holding his sides like a clown, ‘but I couldn’t resist. It was so funny. There they were, so frightened and fussed. Dodging about, those big silly men. No! Admit! It was too funny for words.’
‘I hope you find this evening’s security measures equally droll.’
‘Don’t be stuffy,’ said The Boomer. ‘Would you like a drink before you go?’
‘Very much, but I think I should return.’
‘I’ll just tell Gibson.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the study. Damping down his frustration. Will you excuse me?’
Alleyn looked round the study door. Mr Gibson was at ease with a glass of beer at his elbow.
‘Going,’ Alleyn said.
He rose and followed Alleyn into the hall.
‘Ah!’ said The Boomer graciously. ‘Mr Gibson. Here we go again, don’t we, Mr Gibson?’
‘That’s right, your Excellency,’ said Gibson tonelessly. ‘Here we go again. Excuse me.’
He went out into the street, leaving the door open.
‘I look forward to the next sitting,’ said The Boomer, rubbing his hands. ‘Immeasurably, I shall see you then, old boy. In the morning? Shan’t I?’
‘Not very likely, I’m afraid.’
‘No?’
‘I’m rather busy on a case,’ Alleyn said politely. ‘Troy will do the honours for both of us, if you’ll forgive me.’
‘Good, good, good!’ he said genially. Alleyn escorted