‘The whole thing’s too damn far-fetched, in my opinion,’ said Alleyn. ‘We’re up against a murder that was very nearly unpremeditated.’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘Why, Fox, for the reasons we’ve just ticked off. Lord Robert’s movements could not be anticipated. I have just learned that he had intended to leave much earlier with his sister, Lady Mildred Potter, and Miss Troy.’
‘Miss Agatha Troy?’
‘Yes, Fox.’ Alleyn turned aside and looked out of the window. ‘She’s a friend of the family. I’ve spoken to her. She’s here.’
‘Fancy that, now,’ said Fox comfortably.
‘I think,’ continued Alleyn after a pause, ‘that when the murderer went out from the lighted house into that unwholesome air he perhaps knew that Bunchy – Lord Robert – was returning alone. He may have seen him alone in the hall. That’s why your little list is important. If the man was Dimitri he went out with the deliberate intention of accomplishing his crime. If it was one of the guests he may have made up his mind only when he caught a glimpse of Bunchy standing alone in the mist, waiting for a taxi. He may have meant to threaten, or reason, or plead. He may have found Bunchy obdurate, and on an impulse killed him.’
‘How do you reckon he brought it off? With what?’
‘Back to the jurists’ maxim,’ said Alleyn with a slight smile: ‘Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando?’
‘I never can remember it that way,’ said Fox, ‘knowing no Latin. But I’ve got old Gross’s rhyme all right:
‘What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where?
How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?’
‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘We’ve got quid, quomodo and ubi, but we’re not so sure of quibus auxiliis. Dr Curtis says the abrasion on the temple is two and a half inches long and one-twelfth of an inch across. The blow, he thinks, was not necessarily very heavy, but sharp and extremely accurate. What sort of implement does that suggest to you, Fox?’
‘I’ve been thinking that –’
The desk telephone rang. Alleyn answered it.
‘Hullo?’
‘Mr Alleyn? The Yard here. Sir Daniel Davidson has rung up and says he may have something to tell you. He’ll be in all day.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In his rooms, number fifty St. Luke’s Chambers, Harley Street.’
‘Say I’ll call at two o’clock. Thank him.’ Alleyn put the receiver down.
‘Davidson,’ he said, ‘thinks he may have something to relate. I bet he had a heart-to-heart talk with himself before he decided to ring up.’
‘Why?’ asked Fox. ‘Do you mean he feels shaky?’
‘I mean he’s a fashionable doctor and they don’t care for the kind of publicity you get from criminal investigations. If he’s a clever fellow, and I imagine he must be to have got where he is, he’s realized he was one of the last people to see Lord Robert. He’s decided to come to us before we go to him. According to your notes, Fox, Sir Daniel was the first of the last three people to leave before Lord Robert. The other two were a tight young gentleman and a female secretary. Sir Daniel would have seen Lord Robert was alone and about to leave. He could have waited outside in the mist and asked for a lift in the taxi as easily as anybody. I wonder if he realizes that.’
‘No motive,’ said Fox.
‘None, I should imagine. I mustn’t get fantastic, must I? Damn young Potter, why doesn’t he come?’
‘Have you finished here, sir?’
‘Yes. I got here at five o’clock this morning, broke the news to Lady Mildred, and settled down to Lord Robert’s dressing-room, bedroom and this study. There’s nothing at all to be found except his notes and the will. From seven until ten I looked in their garden, the neighbouring gardens and up and down the Embankment for a cloak and a soft hat. With no success. I’ve got a squad of men at it now.’
‘He may not have got rid of them.’
‘No. He may have been afraid of leaving some trace of himself. If that’s the case he’ll want to destroy or lose them. It was low tide at three o’clock this morning. To drop them in the river he’d have to get to a bridge. What sort of house is Dimitri’s?’
‘It’s a small two-roomed flat in the Cromwell Road. He keeps a servant. French, I should say.’
‘We’ll go round there at noon when he’s due at the Yard, and see if we can find anything. You’ve seen the flat. Where’s his telephone?’
‘On the landing.’
‘Right. You’d better ring from the nearest call-box as soon as I’ve gone in. Keep the servant on the telephone as long as possible. You can put a string of questions about the time Dimitri got in, ask for the names of some of the men, anything. I’ll have a quick look round for a possible spot to hide a largish parcel. We must get the dust-bins watched, though he’s not likely to risk that. Blast this nephew. Fox, go and do your stuff with the maids. Don’t disturb Lady Mildred, but ask for Mr Donald’s telephone number. It’s written on a memorandum in her room, but they may have it, too.’
Fox went out and returned in a few minutes.
‘Sloane 8405.’
Alleyn reached for the telephone and dialled a number. ‘Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, Scotland Yard. I want you to trace Sloane 8405 at once, please. I’ll hang on.’
He waited, staring absently at Fox, who was reading his own notes with an air of complacent detachment.
‘What?’ said Alleyn suddenly. ‘Yes. Will you repeat that. Thank you very much. Good-bye.’
He put back the receiver.
‘Mr Donald Potter’s telephone number,’ he said, ‘is that of Captain Maurice Withers, one hundred and ten Grandison Mansions, Sling Street, Chelsea. Captain Maurice Withers, as you will have noticed, appears in Lord Robert’s notes. He was at the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s and “seemed thick with her”. He was at the concert when Dimitri took her bag. Now look at this –’
Alleyn took a cheque book from a drawer in the desk and handed it to Fox.
‘Look at the heel of the book. Turn up June 8th, last Saturday.’
Fox thumbed over the leaves of the heel until he found it.
‘Fifty pounds. M Withers. (D) Shackleton House, Leatherhead.’
‘That’s the day of the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s. This case is beginning to make a pattern.’
Fox, who had returned to Lord Robert’s notes, asked:
‘What’s this he says about Captain Withers being mixed up in a drug affair in 1924?’
‘It was rather in my salad days at the Yard, Fox, but I remember, and so will you. The Bouchier-Watson lot. They had their headquarters at Marseilles and Port Said, but they operated all over, the shop. Heroin mostly. The FO took a hand. Bunchy was there in those days and helped us enormously. Captain Withers was undoubtedly up to his nasty neck in it, but we never quite got enough to pull him in. A very dubious person. And young Donald’s flown to him for sanctuary. Besotted young ninny! Oh, blast! Fox, blast!’
‘Do you know the young gentleman, sir?’
‘What? Yes. Oh, yes, I know him vaguely. What’s going to come of this? I’ll