“Splendid, sir. I wish everyone was as clear-minded. I remember a case where the whole thing hinged on just such an incident. It was a question of who put sugar in a cup of tea, and do you think we could get anyone who remembered? Not a bit of it. It’s only one witness in a hundred who can give us that sort of thing.”
“Really? Well, I’ll lay you a tenner, Inspector, I can tell you about the coffee on Friday night. Just for the sake of argument.”
“I’m not betting, sir.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Now then. M’wife poured out our coffee at that table over there. Pilgrim handed it round for her. He put Val’s down beside her with his own, told her he’d put sugar in it, and went back to the table for mine. There you are, Inspector. Val complained her coffee was bitter. She asked Pilgrim if his tasted funny and he said it did, and—” He stopped short and his eyes bulged. “Look here,” he said, “ ’way I’m talking anybody might think this was a case of hanky-panky with the coffee. Good Lord, Inspector. Here! I say, I hope you don’t— ”
“Don’t let that bother you, sir. We’re only taking a sample case and I congratulate you. We don’t get our information as lucidly as that very often, do we, Fox?”
“Very nice, indeed, sir,” agreed Fox, wagging his head.
“And then,” said Alleyn, “I believe you played bridge?”
“Yes. That’s right. But by that time Val was looking very seedy and said her head was splitting, so after two or three hands we chucked it up and m’wife took Val up to her room.”
“Gave her some aspirin perhaps?”
“No. Pilgrim rushed off and got some aspirin for her. Anxious about her as an old hen. Engaged couples, what? Ha! She took the bottle up with her. M’wife tucked her up and went to her own room. Pilgrim said he was sleepy — I must say he’s a dreary young blighter. Not nearly good enough for Val. Said he felt like bed and a long sleep. Dull chap. So we had a whisky and soda and turned in. That was at half-past ten. I wound up the clocks, and we went and had a look at Val and found she was in bed. Very attractive creature, Val. Naughty little thing hadn’t taken the aspirin. Said it made her sick trying to swallow. So Pilgrim dissolved three in water and she promised she’d take ’em. M’wife looked in later and found her sound sleep. We were all tucked up and snoozing by eleven, I should think. And now let’s see. Following morning— ”
Captain Pascoe described the following morning with a wealth of detail to which Alleyn listened with every sign of respect and appreciation. Drinks were again suggested. “Well, if you won’t, I will,” said Captain Pascoe, and did, twice. Alleyn asked to see the bedrooms. Captain Pascoe mixed himself a third drink, and somewhat noisily escorted them over the house. The guest-rooms were at the top of the stairs.
“Val had this one, and that fellow was next door. What! Felt like a good long sleep! My God.” Here the captain laughed uproariously and pulled himself together. “Not that Val’d stand any nonsense. Thoroughly nice gal. Looks very cometoish, but b’lieve me — na poo. I know. Too much other way ’fanything. I mean, give you ninstance. Following morning took her round rose garden. Looking lovely. Little purple cap and little purple gloves. Lovely. Just in friendly spirit I said, ‘ ’ffected little thing, wearing little purple gloves,’ and gave little left-hand purple glove little squeeze. Just like that. Purely platonicalistic. Jumped as if I’d bitten her and snatched away. Pooff!”
Captain Pascoe sat on the edge of Valmai’s bed and finished his drink. He glared round the room, sucking his upper lip.
“ ’Tchah!” he said suddenly. “Look’t that. Disgraceful. Staff work in this house is abominable. M’wife’s away. Maid’s away. Only that feller to look after me. Meals at club. Nothing to do, and look at that.”
He pointed unsteadily to the mantelpiece.
“ ’Bominable. Never been touched. Look at this!”
He turned his eye on the bedside table. Upon it stood a row of books. A dirty table-napkin lay on top of the books.
Captain Pascoe snatched it up. Underneath it was a tumbler holding three fingers of murky fluid.
“D’yer know what that is? That’s been there since Friday night. I mean!” He lurched again towards the bedside table. Alleyn slipped in front of him.
“Maddening, that sort of thing. I wonder if we might see Mr. Pilgrim’s room, sir.”
“By George, well see every room in this house,” shouted Captain Pascoe. “By God, we’ll catch them red-handed.”
With this remarkable pronouncement he turned about and made for the door. Alleyn followed him, looked over his shoulder at Fox, raised his left eyebrow, and disappeared.
To Nigel’s surprise, Fox said: “Wait here, Mr. Bathgate, please,” darted out of the room and reappeared in about a minute.
“Stand by that door if you please, Mr. Bathgate,” whispered Fox. “Keep the room clear.”
Nigel stood by the door and Fox, with surprising dexterity and speed, whipped a small wide-necked bottle from his pocket, poured the contents of the tumbler into it, corked it, and wrapped the tumbler in his handkerchief.
“Now, sir. If you’ll take those down to the car and put them in the chief’s case — thank you very much. Quickly does it.”
When Nigel got back he found that Captain Pascoe, accompanied by Alleyn, had returned to the hall and was yelling for his servant. The servant arrived and was damned to heaps. Fox came down. Captain Pascoe suddenly collapsed into an arm-chair, showed signs of drowsiness, and appeared to lose all interest in his visitors. Alleyn spoke to the servant.
“We are police officers and are making a few inquiries about the affair at Bossicote. Will you show us the garage, please?”
“Very good, sir,” said the man stolidly.
“It’s nothing whatever to do with your employer, personally, by the way.”
Captain Pascoe’s servant bestowed a disappointed glance upon his master and led his visitors out by the front door.
“The garage is a step or two down the lane, sir. The house, being old and what they call restored, hasn’t many conveniences.”
“Do you keep early hours here? What time do you get up in the mornings?”
“Breakfast is not till ten, sir. The maids are supposed to get up at seven. It’s more like half-past. The Captain and Mrs. Pascoe breakfast in their rooms, you see, and so do most guests.”
“Did Mr. Pilgrim and Miss Seacliff breakfast in their rooms?”
“Oh yes, sir. There’s the garage, sir.”
He showed them a double garage about two hundred yards down the lane. Captain Pascoe’s Morris Cowley occupied less than half the floor space.
“Ah yes,” said Alleyn. “Plenty of room here. I suppose, now, that Mr. Pilgrim’s car fitted in very comfortably?”
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Nice car, isn’t it?”
“Very nice job, sir. Tiger on petrol, sir.”