“That was not the big idea. Your manners did not seem ill to me. May we sit down, please?”
“Do.”
They sat in front of the fire.
“Well,” said Troy, “get your note-book.”
Alleyn felt in the inside pocket of his dinner jacket.
“It’s still there,” he said. “The last time I used it was in New Zealand. Here we are. Have you had any dinner, by the way?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Come, come,” said Alleyn “you mustn’t turn into a hostile witness before there’s anything to be hostile about.”
“Don’t be facetious. Oh damn! Rude again. Yes, thank you, I toyed with a chunk of athletic hen.”
“Good! A glass of port wouldn’t do you any harm. Don’t offer me any, please: I’m not supposed to drink on duty, unless it’s with a sinister purpose. I suppose this affair has shaken you up a bit?”
Troy waited for a moment and then she said: “I’m terrified of dead people.”
“I know,” said Alleyn. “I was, at first. Before the war. Even now they are not quite a commonplace to me.”
“She was a silly little creature. More like a beautiful animal than a reasonable human. But to see her suddenly, like that — everything emptied away. She looked faintly astonished — that was all.”
“It’s so often like that. Astonished, but sort of knowing. Are there any relatives to be informed?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. She lived alone — officially.”
“We’ll have to try and find out.”
“What do you want me to do now?” asked Troy.
“I want you to bring this girl to life for me. I know the circumstances surrounding her death — the immediate circumstances — and as soon as my men get here from London, I’ll look at the studio. In the meantime I’d like to know if any possible explanation for this business has occurred to you. I must thank you for having kept the place untouched. Not many people think like that on these occasions.”
“I’ve no explanation, reasonable or fantastic, but there’s one thing you ought to know at once. I told the class they were not to speak of it to the police. I knew they’d all give excited and exaggerated accounts of it, and thought it better that the first statement should come from me.”
“I see.”
“I’ll make that statement now.”
“An official statement?” asked Alleyn lightly.
“If you like. When you move the throne you will find that a dagger has been driven through the boards from underneath.”
“Shall we?”
“Yes. You don’t say ‘How do you know?’ ”
“Well, I expect you’re going on to that, aren’t you?”
“Yes. On the 10th, the first morning when I set this pose, I arranged it to look as if the figure had been murdered in exactly this way. Cedric Malmsley, one of my students, was doing a book illustration of a similar incident.” She paused for a moment, looking into the fire. “During the rest they began arguing about the possibilities of committing a crime in this way. Hatchett, another student, got a knife that is in the junk-room, and shoved it through from underneath. Ormerin helped him. The throne was roughly knocked up for me in the village and the boards have warped apart. The blade is much narrower at the tip than at the hilt. The tip went through easily, but he hammered at the hilt to force it right up. The boards gripped the wider end. You will see all that when you look at it.”
“Yes.” Alleyn made a note in his book and waited.
“The drape was arranged to hide the knife and it all looked quite convincing. Sonia was — she was quite — frightened. Hatchett pulled the knife out — it needed some doing — and we put everything straight again.”
“What happened to the knife?”
“Let me see. I think Hatchett put it away.”
“From a practical point of view, how could you be sure that the knife would come through at exactly the right place to do what it has done?”
“The position of the figure is chalked on the floor. When she took her pose, Sonia fitted her right hip and leg into the chalk-marks, and then slid down until the whole of her right side was on the floor. One of the students would move her until she was inside the marks. Then she let her torso go over until her left shoulder touched the floor. The left hip was off the ground. I could draw it for you.”
Alleyn opened his note-book at a clean page and handed it to her with his pencil. Troy swept a dozen lines down and gave it back to him.
“Wonderful!” said Alleyn, “to be able to do that — so easily.”
“I’m not likely to forget that pose,” said Troy dryly.
“What about the drape? Didn’t that cover the chalk-marks?”
“Only in places. It fell from a suspension-point on the cushion to the floor. As she went down, she carried it with her. The accidental folds that came that way were more interesting than any laboured arrangement. When the students made their experiment they found the place where the heart would be, quite easily, inside the trace on the floor. The crack passed through this point. Hatchett put a pencil through the crack and they marked the position on the under-side of the throne.”
“Is there any possibility that they repeated this performance for some reason on Friday and forgot to withdraw the dagger?”
“I thought of that at once, naturally. I asked them. I begged them to tell me.” Troy moved her long hands restlessly. “Anything,” she said, “anything rather than the thought of one of them deliberately — there’s no reason. I–I can’t bear to think of it. As if a beastly unclean thing was in one of their minds, behind all of us. And then, suddenly, crawled out and did this.”
He heard her draw in her breath sharply. She turned her head away.
Alleyn swore softly.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to me,” said Troy impatiently. “I’m all right. About Friday. We had the morning class as usual from ten o’clock to twelve-thirty, with that pose. We all lunched at one. Then we went up to London. The private view of the Phoenix Group Show was on Friday night, and several of us had things in it. Valmai Seacliff and Basil Pilgrim, who are engaged to be married, left in his two-seater immediately after lunch. Neither of them was going to the private view. They were going to his people’s place, to break the engagement news, I imagine. Katti Bostock and I left in my car at about half-past two. Hatchett, Phillida Lee and Ormerin caught the three o’clock bus. Malmsley wanted to do some work, so he stayed behind until six, went up in the six-fifteen bus and joined us later at the show. I believe Phillida Lee and Hatchett had a meal together and went to a show. She took him to her aunt’s house in London for the week-end, I fancy.”
“And the model?”
“Caught the two-thirty bus. I don’t know where she went or what she did. She came back with Malmsley, Ormerin, Katti Bostock, Hatchett and Phillida Lee by yesterday evening’s bus.”
“When Friday’s class broke up, did you all leave the studio together and come up to the house?”
“I — let me think for a moment. No, I can’t remember; but usually we come up in dribbles. Some of them go on working, and they have to clean up their palettes and so on. Wait a second. Katti and I came up together before the others. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Would the studio be locked before you went to London?”
“No.” Troy turned her head and looked squarely at him.
“Why not?” asked Alleyn.
“Because of Garcia.”
“Blackman told me about Garcia. He stayed behind, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes,” said Troy unhappily. “Quite alone.”
There was a tap at the door. It opened and Blackman appeared, silhouetted against the brightly lit hall.
“The doctor’s here, Mr. Alleyn, and I think the car from London is just arriving.”
“Right,” said Alleyn. “I’ll come.”
Blackman moved away. Alleyn rose and looked down at Troy in her arm-chair.
“Perhaps I may see you again before I go?”
“I’ll be in here or with the others in the dining-room. It’s a bit grim sitting round there under the eye of the village constable.”
“I hope it won’t be for very long,” said Alleyn.