Artists in Crime by Ngaio Marsh Page A

in.”
    The figure moved forward a little and held out a hand. Alleyn said apologetically:
    “I’m coming as fast as I can. It’s rather dark.”
    “Oh!” There was a moment’s pause, a movement, and then a shaded lamp came to life and he saw her clearly. She wore a long plain dress of a material that absorbed the light and gave off none. She looked taller than his remembrance of her. Her face was white under the short black hair. Alleyn took her hand, held it lightly for a second, and then moved to the fire.
    “It was kind of you to come,” said Troy.
    “No, it wasn’t. I’m here on duty.”
    She stiffened at once.
    “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”
    “If I was not a policeman,” Alleyn said, “I think I should still have come. You could have brought about a repetition of our first meeting and sent me about my business.”
    “Must you always remind me of my ill manners?”
    “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