“Well, Mr. Alleyn?” said Miss Seacliff.
The three men sat down. Alleyn turned a page of his tiny note-book, appeared to deliberate, and embarked upon the familiar opening.
“Miss Seacliff, my chief concern at the moment is to get a clear account of everybody’s movements during the weekend. Mr. Pilgrim has told us of your motor trip with him to Boxover, and then to Ankerton Manor. I should like you to corroborate his statement if you will. Did you return to the studio before you left?”
“No, I was packing. The housemaid helped me and carried my things down to the car.”
“You arrived at Captain and Mrs. Pascoe’s house in Boxover on Friday afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“And spent the afternoon together?”
“Yes. The Pascoes talked about tennis but I didn’t feel inclined to play. I rather loathe tennis. So we talked.
Alleyn noticed again her curious little stutter, and the trick she had of letting her voice die and then catching it up on an intake of breath.
“How did you spend the evening?”
“We played bridge for a bit. I had a frightful headache and went to bed early. I felt quite sick with it.”
“That was bad luck. Do you often have these headaches?”
“Never until lately. They started about a month ago. It’s rather tiresome.”
“You should consult an oculist.”
“My eyes are perfectly all right. As a matter of fact a rather distinguished oculist once told me that intensely blue eyes like mine usually give no trouble. He said my eyes were the most vivid blue he had ever seen.”
“Indeed!” said Alleyn, without looking at them. “How do you explain the headaches, then?”
“I’m perfectly certain the one on Friday night was due to champagne and port. The Pascoes had champagne at dinner to celebrate my engagement, and there was brandy afterwards. I loathe brandy, so Basil made me have a glass of port. I told him it would upset me but he went on and on. The coffee was filthy, too. Bitter and beastly. Sybil Pascoe is one of those plain women whom one expects to be good housekeepers, but I must say she doesn’t appear to take the smallest trouble over the coffee. Basil says his was abominable, too.”
“When did you give up the bridge?”
“I’ve no idea, I’m afraid. I simply couldn’t go on. Basil got me three aspirin and I went to bed. The others came up soon afterwards, I fancy. I heard Basil go into his room.”
“It was next to yours.”
“Yes.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Like the dead. I didn’t wake till they brought my tea at nine o’clock.”
“And the headache had cleared up?”
“Yes, quite. I still felt a little unpleasant. It was a sort of carry-over from that damned port, I imagine.”
“Were your host and hostess anywhere near you upstairs?”
“Sybil and Ken? Not very. There was Basil and then me, and then I think two spare rooms and a bathroom. Then their room. Why?”
“It sounds rather absurd, I know,” said Alleyn, “but you see we’ve got to find out as closely as possible what everyone did that night.”
“Basil didn’t come into my room, if that’s what you’re hinting at,” said Miss Seacliff without heat. “It wasn’t that sort of party. Anyway, I’m not given to that kind of thing even when I haven’t got a headache. I don’t believe in it. Sooner or later you lose your glamour. Look at Sonia.”
“Quite so. Then as far as you know the household slept without stirring from Friday night to Saturday morning?”
“Yes,” said Miss Seacliff, looking at him as if he was slightly demented.
“And on Saturday you went on to Ankerton Manor. When did you start?”
“We had a glass of sherry at about ten, and then pushed off. Basil was in a great state lest we should be late for lunch, and wanted to get away earlier, but I saw no reason why we should go rushing about the countryside before it was necessary. We had plenty of time.”
“Why was he so anxious?”
“He kept saying that he was sure Sybil Pascoe wanted to get away. She was going up to London for a week and leaving Ken to look after himself. I pointed out that was no reason why we should bolt off. Then Basil said we mustn’t be late at Ankerton. The truth was, the poor lamb wanted me to make a good impression on his extraordinary old father. I told him he needn’t worry. Old men always go quite crazy about me. But Basil was absurdly nervous about the meeting and kept fidgeting me to start. We got there early as it was, and by luncheon-time the old person was talking about the family jewels. He’s given me some emeralds that I’m going to have reset. They’re rather spectacular.”
“You left Ankerton yesterday after luncheon, I suppose?”
“Yes. Basil was rather keen to stay on till Monday, but I’d had enough. The old person made me hack round the ancestral acres on a beastly little animal that nearly pulled my arms out. I saw you looking at my hand.”
With a slow and beautiful movement she extended her left arm, opened her hand, and held it close to Alleyn’s face. It was warmly scented and the palm was rouged. At the base of the little finger were two or three scarlet marks.
“My hands are terribly soft, of course,” said Miss Seacliff, advancing it a little closer to his face.
“Yes,” said Alleyn. “You are evidently not an experienced horsewoman.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, you know, these marks have not been made by a rein. I should say, Miss Seacliff, that your pony’s mane had been called into service.”
She pulled her hand away and turned rather pink.
“I don’t pretend to be a horsey woman, thank God! I simply loathe the brutes. I must say I got very bored with the old person. And besides, I didn’t want to miss the pose this morning. I’d got a good deal to do to my thing of Sonia. I suppose I’ll never get it done now.”
Fox coughed and Nigel glanced up at Valmai Seacliff in astonishment.
“I suppose not,” agreed Alleyn. “Now, Miss Seacliff, we come to this morning’s tragedy. Will you describe to us exactly what happened, please?”
“Have you got a cigarette?”
Alleyn sprang up and offered her his case.
“What are they? Oh, I see. Thank you.”
She took one and he lit it for her. She looked into his eyes deliberately but calmly, as if she followed a familiar routine. Alleyn returned her glance gravely and sat down again.
“This morning?” she said. “You mean when Sonia was killed? It was rather ghastly. I felt wretched after it was all over. Ill. I suppose it was shock. I do think it was rather cruel that I should be the one to — to do it — to set the pose. They all knew I always pushed her shoulders down.” She caught her breath, and for the first time showed some signs of genuine distress. “I believe Garcia deliberately planned it like that. He loathed the sight of Sonia, and at the same time he wanted to revenge himself on me because I didn’t fall for him. It was just like Garcia to do that. He’s a spiteful little beast. It was cruel. I–I can’t get rid of the remembrance. I’ll never be able to get rid of it.”
“I’m sorry that I am obliged to ask you to go over it again, but I’m sure you will understand— ”
“Oh, yes. And the psycho people say one shouldn’t repress things of this sort. I don’t want to get nervy and lose my poise. After all, I didn’t do it really. I keep telling myself that.”
“When did you go down to the studio?”
“Just before class time. Basil and I walked down together. Katti Bostock was there and — let me see — yes, the appalling Hatchett youth, Lee and Ormerin and Malmsley came down afterwards, I think.”