Vintage Murder by Ngaio Marsh Page B

powder-puff.
    “Mr. Alleyn and I have met before, dear,” explained Susan. “Over that dreadful business with Felix Gardener, you know.”
    “Yes. We spoke about it that night on the train.” Carolyn paused, and then she began to speak rapidly, urgently and with more command over her voice.
    “That’s why I wanted to see you. That night on the train. You remember what — he — said. Someone had tried to kill him. Have you thought of that?”
    “I have,” said Alleyn.
    “Well then — I want you to tell me, please, is this anything to do with it? Has someone — the same someone — done to-night what they failed to do on the train? Mr. Alleyn — has someone murdered my husband?”
    Alleyn was silent.
    “Please answer me.”
    “That’s a question for the police, you know.”
    “But I want
you
to tell me what you think. I must know what you think.” She leant towards him. “You’re not on duty. You’re in a strange country, like all of us, and far away from your job. Don’t be official, please don’t. Tell me what you think?”
    “Very well,” said Alleyn after a pause. “I think someone has interfered with the tackle that was rigged up for — for the stunt with the champagne, you know,”
    “And that means murder?”
    “If I am right — yes. It looks like it.”
    “Shall you speak to the police? They are there now, aren’t they?”
    “Yes. They are out there.”
    “Well?”
    “I regard myself as a layman, Miss Dacres. I shall certainly not butt in.” His voice was not final. He seemed to have left something unsaid. Carolyn looked fixedly at him and then turned to old Susan.
    “Susie, darling, I want to talk to Mr. Alleyn. Do you mind? You’ve been an angel. Thank you so much. Come back soon.”
    When Susan had gone Carolyn leant forward and touched Alleyn’s hand.
    “Listen,” she said, “do you feel friendly towards me? You do, don’t you?”
    “Quite friendly.”
    “I want you for my friend. You don’t believe I could do anything very bad, do you? Or let anything very bad be done without making some effort to stop it?”
    “What is in your mind?” he asked. “What are you trying to say?”
    “If I should want your help — yes, that’s it — would you give it me?”
    Her hand was still on his. She had patched up the stains made by her tears and her face looked beautiful again. He had seen her lean forward like that on the stage, it was a very characteristic gesture. Her eyes seemed to cry out to him.
    “If I can be of any help,” said Alleyn very formally, “of course I shall be only too glad—”
    “No, no, no. That’s not a bit of good. Sticking out all your prickles like that,” said Carolyn, with something of her old vigour. “I want a real answer.”
    “But, don’t you see, you say too much and too little. What sort of help do you want from me?”
    “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
    “Come,” said Alleyn, “I’ll promise to stay in Middleton a little longer. When do you go on to Wellington?”
    “When? We were to open there next week, but now — I don’t know.”
    “Listen to me. I give you one piece of advice. Don’t try and keep anything in the dark, no matter what it is. Those fellows out there will want to talk to you. They’ll have to ask you all sorts of questions. Answer them truthfully, no matter what it means, no matter how painful it may be, no matter where you think their questions are leading you. Promise me that and I’ll pledge you my help, for what it’s worth.”
    Carolyn still leant towards him, still looked straight at him. But he felt her withdrawal as certainly as though it had been physical.
    “Well?” he asked. “Is it a bargain?”
    But before she could answer him Hailey Hambledon came back with the brandy.
    “The detectives want us all to wait in the wardrobe-room,” he said. “I don’t know about you, Alleyn.”
    “You haven’t given me away to anyone, have you?” asked Alleyn.
    “No, no. Only we three