“Mr. Ormerin,” said Alleyn, “you draw up the blinds on my technique, and leave it blinking foolishly in the light of day. I see that I may be silent no longer.”
“Ah-ah-ah! It is as I have said.” Ormerin wagged his head sideways, shrugged up his shoulders and threw himself back in his chair. “But as for this murder — it is the crime passionnel, depend upon it. The girl was very highly sexed.”
“That doesn’t necessarily lead to homicide,” Alleyn pointed out, with a smile.
“She was jealous,” said Ormerin; “she was yellow with jealousy and chagrin. Every time Garcia looks at Seacliff she suffers as if she is ill. And when Pilgrim announces that he is affianced with Seacliff, again Sonia feels as if a knife is twisted inside her.”
“That’s absolute bosh,” said Basil Pilgrim violently. “You don’t know what you are talking about, Ormerin.”
“Do I not? She was avid for men, that little one.”
“Dear me,” murmured Malmsley, “this all sounds very Montmarte.”
“She certainly was a hot little dame,” said Hatchett.
“It was apparent,” added Ormerin. “And when a more compelling — a more troublante—woman arrived, she became quite frantic. Because Seacliff— ”
“Will you keep Valmai’s name out of this?” shouted Pilgrim.
“Basil, darling, how divinely county you are,” said Valmai Seacliff. “I know she was jealous of me. We all know she was. And she obviously was very attracted to you, my sweet.”
‘This conversation,“ said Troy, ”seems slightly demented. All this, if it was true, might mean that Sonia would feel like killing Valmai or Pilgrim or Garcia, but why should anybody kill her?”
“Closely reasoned,” murmured Alleyn. Troy threw a suspicious glance at him.
“It is true, is it not,” insisted Ormerin, “that you suspect one of us?”
“Or Garcia,” said Katti Bostock.
“Yes, there’s always the little tripe-hound,” agreed Seacliff.
“And the servants,” added Malmsley.
“Very well,” amended Ormerin, still talking to Alleyn. “You suspect one of this party, or Garcia, or — if you will — the servants.”
“An inside job,” said Hatchett, proud of the phrase.
“Oh, yes,” said Alleyn. “I do rather suspect one of you — or Mr. Garcia — or the servants. But it’s early days yet. I am capable of almost limitless suspicion. At Ae moment I am going to tighten up this round-table conference.” He looked at Hatchett. “How long have you been working without a tray on your easel?”
“Eh? What d’you mean?” Hatchett sounded startled.
“It’s not very difficult. How long is it since you had a ledge on your easel?”
“Haven’t I got one now?”
“No.”
“Oh yeah! That’s right. I took it off to hammer the dagger into the throne.”
“What!” screamed Phillida Lee. “Oh, I see.”
“On the day of the experiment?” asked Alleyn.
“That’s right.”
“And it’s been kicking about on the floor ever since?”
“I suppose so. Half a tick, though — has it? Naow — it hasn’t, either. I’ve had a ledge all right. I stuck my dipper on it. Look, I had a ledge on me easel Fridee after lunch.”
“After lunch,” said Alleyn.
“Yeah, I remember now. I ran down some time after lunch to have a look at the thing I’d been painting. I met you coming away, Ormerin, didn’t I?”
“Yes. I only looked at my work and felt sick and came away.”
“Yeah. Well, when I got there I thought I’d play round with the wet paint, see? Well, I’d just had a smack at it when I heard Ormerin singing out the old bus went past the corner on the main road in ten minutes. Well, I remember now; I jammed my brush into my dipper so’s it wouldn’t go hard, and then beat it. But the dipper was on the ledge all right.”
“And was the ledge there this morning?”
“You’re right. It wasn’t. And it wasn’t there Sundee night either.”
“Sunday night?” said Alleyn sharply.
“That’s right. After we got back, see? I ran down to the studio just after tea.”
“After tea? But I thought you didn’t come back until— ”
Alleyn looked at his notes. “Until six-thirty.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Alleyn. We finished tea at half-past eight, about.”
“The gentleman is talking of the evening meal, Inspector,” said Malmsley. “They dine at noon in the Antipodes, I understand.”
“Aw go and chase yourself,” invited Hatchett. “I went down to the studio at about eight-thirty, Inspector. ‘After dinnah’ if you’ve got enlarged tonsils. ‘After tea’ if you’re normal.”
“Did you get in?”
“Too right. She was locked, but the key’s left on a nail, and I opened her up and had a look-see at my picture. Gosh, it looked all right, too, Miss Troy, by artificial light. Have you seen it by lamplight, Miss Troy?”
“No,” said Troy. “Don’t wander.”
“Good oh, Miss Troy.”
“Well,” said Alleyn, “you went into the studio, and put the lights up, and looked at your work. Did you look at the throne?”
“Er — yes. Yes, I did. I was wondering if I’d paint a bit of the drape, and I had a look, and it was all straightened out. Like it always is before she gets down into the pose. Stretched tight from the cushion to the floor. If I had a pencil I could show you— ”
‘Thank you, I think I follow.”
“Good oh, then. Well, I wondered if I’d try and fix it like as if the model was laying on it. I’d an idea that I might get it right if I lay down myself in the pose. Cripes!” exclaimed Hatchett, turning paper-white. “If I’d a-done that would I have got a knife in me slats? Cripey, Mr. Alleyn, do you reckon that dagger was sticking up under the drape on Sundee evening?”
“Possibly.”
“What a cow!” whispered Hatchett.
“However, you didn’t arrange yourself on the drape. Why not?”
“Well, because Miss Troy won’t let anybody touch the throne without she says they can, and I thought she’d go crook if I did.”
“Correct?” asked Alleyn, with a smile at Troy.
“Certainly. It’s the rule of the studio. Otherwise the drapes would get bundled about, and the chalked positions rubbed off.”
“Yeah, but listen, Miss Troy. Mr. Alleyn, listen. I’ve just remembered something.”
“Come on, then,” said Alleyn.
“Gee, I reckon this is important,” continued Hatchett excitedly. “Look, when I went down to the studio just before we all went to catch the bus on Fridee, the drape was all squashed down, just as it had been when the model got up.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I’m certain. I’ll swear to it.”
“Did you notice the drape on your brief visit to the studio after lunch, Mr. Ormerin?”
“Yes,” said Ormerin excitedly. “Now you ask I remember well. I looked at my work, and then automatically I looked at the throne as though the model was still there. And I got the small tiny shock one receives at the sight of that which one does not expect. Then I looked at my treatment of the drape and back to the drape itself. It was as Hatchett describes— crumpled and creased by the weight of her body, just as when she arose at midday.”