“And that’s the trouble?”
“That’s it.”
“Anything more specific?”
“Look,” Camilla said, “forgive my asking, but did you get on in the Force by sheer cheek or sheer charm or what?”
“Tell me your trouble,” Alleyn said, “and I’ll tell you the secret of my success-story. Of course, there’s your pride, isn’t there?”
“All right. Yes. And there’s also the certainty of the past being rehashed by the more loathsome daily newspapers in the light of this ghastly crime. I don’t know,” Camilla burst out, “how I can think of Ralph, and I am thinking all the time of him, after what has happened.”
“But why shouldn’t you think of him?”
“I’ve told you. Ralph’s a South Mardian man. His mother was a Mardian. His aunt was jilted by my papa when he ran away with my mum. My Mardian relations are the Andersen boys. If Ralph marries me, there’d be hell to pay. Every way there’d be hell. He’s Dame Alice’s heir, after his aunt, and, although I agree that doesn’t matter so much — he’s a solicitor and able to make his own way — she’d undoubtedly cut him off.”
“I wonder. Talking of Wills, by the way, do you know if your grandfather made one?”
Camilla caught back her breath. “Oh, God!” she whispered. “I hope not. Oh, I hope not.”
Alleyn waited.
“He talked about it,” Camilla said, “last time I saw him. Four days ago. We had a row about it.”
“If you’d rather not tell me, you needn’t.”
“I said I wouldn’t touch a penny of his money, ever, and that, if he left me any, I’d give it to the Actors’ Benevolent Fund. That rocked him.”
“He’d spoken of leaving you something?”
“Yes. Sort of backhandedly. I didn’t understand, at first. It was ghastly. As if I’d come here to — ugh! — to sort of worm my way into his good books. Too frightful it was.”
“The day before yesterday,” Alleyn said, watching her, “he visited his solicitors in Biddlefast.”
“He did? Oh, my goodness me, how awful. Still, perhaps it was about something else.”
“The solicitors are Messrs. Stayne and Stayne.”
“That’s Ralph’s office,” Camilla said instantly. “How funny. Ralph didn’t say anything about it.”
“Perhaps,” Alleyn suggested lightly, “it was a secret.”
“What do you mean?” she said quickly.
“A professional secret.”
“I see.”
“Is Mr. Ralph Stayne your own solicitor, Miss Campion?”
“Lord, no,” Camilla said. “I haven’t got one.”
The door opened and a dark young man, wearing a face of thunder, strode into the room.
He said in a magnificent voice, “I consider it proper and appropriate for me to be present at any interviews Miss Campion may have with the police.”
“Do you?” Alleyn said mildly. “In what capacity?”
“As her solicitor.”
“My poorest heavenly old booby!” Camilla ejaculated, and burst into peals of helpless laughter.
“Mr. Ralph Stayne,” Alleyn said, “I presume.”
The five Andersens, bunched together in their cold smithy, contemplated Sergeant Obby. Chris, the belligerent brother, slightly hitched his trousers and placed himself before the sergeant. They were big men and of equal height.
“Look yur,” Chris said, “Bob Obby. Us chaps want to have a tell. Private.”
Without shifting his gaze, which was directed at some distant object above Chris’s head, Obby very slightly shook his own. Chris reddened angrily and Dan intervened:
“No harm in that now, Bob; natural as the day, seeing what’s happened.”
“You know us,” the gentle Andy urged. “Soft as doves so long’s we’re easy-handled. Harmless.”
“But mortal set,” Nat added, “on our own ways. That’s us. Come on, now, Bob.”
Sergeant Obby pursed his lips and again slightly shook his head.
Chris burst out, “If you’re afraid we’ll break one of your paltry by-laws you can watch us through the bloody winder.”
“But out of earshot, in simple decency,” Nat pursued. “For ten minutes you’re axed to shift. Now!”
After a longish pause and from behind an expressionless face, Obby said, “Can’t be done, souls.”
Ernie broke into aimless laughter.
“Why, you damned fool,” Chris shouted at Obby, “what’s gone with you? D’you reckon one of us done it?”
“Not for me to say,” Obby primly rejoined, “and I’m sure I hope you’re all as innocent as newborn babes. But I got my duty, which is to keep observation on the whole boiling of you, guilty or not, as the case may be.”
“We got to talk PRIVATE!” Chris shouted. “We got to.”
Sergeant Obby produced his notebook.
“No ‘got’ about it,” he said. “Not in the view of the law.”
“To oblige, then?” Andy urged.
“The suggestion,” Obby said, “is unworthy of you, Andrew.”
He opened his book and licked his pencil.
“What’s that for?” Chris demanded.
Obby looked steadily at him and made a note.
“Get out!” Chris roared.
“That’s a type of remark that does an innocent party no good,” Obby told him. “Let alone a guilty.”
“What the hell d’you mean by that?”
“Ax yourself.”
“Are you trying to let on you reckon one of us is a guilty party? Come on. Are you?”
“Any such caper on my part would be dead against the regulations,” Obby said stuffily.
“Then why do you pick on me to take down in writing? What ’ave I done?”
“Only yourself and your Maker,” Obby remarked, “knows the answer to that one.”
“And me,” Ernie announced unexpectedly. “I know.”
Sergeant Obby became quite unnaturally still. The Andersens, too, seemed to be suspended in a sudden, fierce attentiveness. After a considerable pause, Obby said, “What might you know, then, Ernest?”
“Ar-ar-ar! That’d be telling!”
“So it would,” Chris said shortly. “So shut your big silly mouth and forget it.”
“No, you don’t, Christopher,” Obby rejoined. “If Ern’s minded to pass a remark, he’s at liberty to do so. Speak up, Ernest. What was you going to say? You don’t,” Obby added hastily, “have to talk, but if you want to, I’m here to see fair play. What’s on your mind, Ernest?”
Ernie dodged his head and looked slyly at his brothers. He began to laugh with the grotesquerie of his kind. He half shut his eyes and choked over his words. “What price Sunday, then? What price Chrissie and the Guiser? What price you-know-who?”
He doubled himself up in an ecstasy of bucolic enjoyment. “How’s Trix?” he squeaked and gave a shrill catcall. “Poor old Chrissie,” he exulted.
Chris said savagely, “Do you want the hide taken off of you?”
“When’s the wedding, then?” Ernie asked, dodging behind Andy. “Nothing to hold you now, is there?”
“By God —!” Chris shouted and lunged forward. Andy laid his hands on Chris’s chest.
“Steady, naow, Chris, boy, steady,” Andy begged him.
“And you, Ernie,” Dan added, “you do like what Chris says and shut your mouth.” He turned on Obby. “You know damn’ well what he’s like. Silly as a sheep. You didn’t ought to encourage him. Tain’t neighbourly.”
Obby completed his notes and put up his book. He looked steadily from one of the Andersens to another. Finally, he addressed himself to them collectively.