Enter a Murderer by Ngaio Marsh Page B

Alleyn. “Top marks. We shall have to get you into the force.”
    “Oh, yes, I dare say. Well, now. Is that all? Can I go?”
    “I shall be sorry to lose you.”
    Nigel had waited for an outburst from Miss Emerald — a denial, an explanation, another bout of hysteria. Instead there was dead silence. He wished he could see Janet Emerald and Jacob Saint.
    “It’s a shocking thing,” said Susan Max abruptly. “It’s a very shocking thing for a young man to die as Arthur Surbonadier died. Not himself. Angry. For he was angry, you know.”
    “What about?”
    “All sorts of things. Not satisfied with the casting. Unhappy over other matters too, I believe. I suppose it’s murder?”
    “It looks like it.”
    “And poor Felix. You’re not running away with the idea Felix had anything to do with it, I hope? Except pulling the trigger, poor fellow. Um?”
    “Why not?” Janet Emerald demanded. “Why not Felix Gardener? He shot him. It was his revolver. Why is everybody so sure he knew nothing about it? Stephanie doing brave heroine stuff all over him. Everybody treating him like an invalid. While I–I—am treated like a criminal. It’s infamous.”
    “There’s only one thing more,” said Alleyn, exactly as if she had not spoken. “It’s unavoidable or I wouldn’t press it. I should like everyone behind the scenes to-night to be searched before they leave. I can’t insist, but it will save a lot of bother if you consent. Miss Max, I expect you know what we are looking for?”
    “I don’t, then.”
    “For the dummy cartridges.”
    “Oh.”
    “They will be fairly bulky. Miss Emerald, will you take off your wrap?”
    “Here!” said Jacob Saint. “Whaddeyer going to do?”
    “Oh, hold your tongue, Jacco!”
    A slithery noise. Nigel craned his neck and saw Janet Emerald move forward. She was clad in a sequinned sheath that fitted her like a skin.
    “Miss Emerald, will you let me make a very superficial examination or would you prefer to go to a police station, where there will be a wardress?”
    “Don’t let him touch you, Janet.”
    “Oh, Jacco, don’t be a fool.” There was no touch of hysteria here, only a harsh and wearied contempt. “Do whatever you like,” said Janet Emerald. She held up her magnificent arms and closed her eyes. Alleyn passed his delicate hands lightly over the surface of her dress. He too had closed his eyes. He looked as though his brain was in his fingertips. There was something uncannily remote about him. Lightly the hands swept down the sides and front of the sequinned dress, down the flanks, pausing at the knees and then dropping disinterestedly away. He picked up the fallen wrap, felt it all over, shook it and held it out politely by the collar. “You would like to put it on again,” he said.
    Janet Emerald breathed unevenly and a curious, distorted smile visited her lips. She slid into the wrap.
    “And what about you, Miss Max?” said Alleyn.
    “I’m more bulky — you’ll have to prod,” said Susan Max cheerfully. She took off her overcoat and stood, a round, and somehow pathetic, figure in blouse and skirt.
    “You are very courteous,” said Alleyn gravely. “And very wise.”
    He searched her and then Jacob Saint, who stood up for it without protest or comment. Alleyn looked carefully at the papers in his pocket-book, but appeared to find nothing that interested him.
    “That is all,” he said at last. “I’ll keep you no longer. How will you get home, Miss Max?”
    “I live in South Kensington — I suppose I’ve missed the last bus.”
    “Fox. Be a good fellow and tell the constable at the door to get a taxi. My party, Miss Max.”
    “You
are
kind,” said Susan Max.
    “Good night—‘Ruth.’ Good night, Miss Emerald. Mr. Saint. Inspector Fox will take your addresses.”
    “Here!” said Saint suddenly. “Maybe I’ve been short with you, inspector. This thing’s upset me. You’re doing your duty and I respect that. I’d like to see you