Overture to Death

“I wish you would.”

“I thought I’d find myself in the double rôle of police surgeon and eye-witness, so I tried to sort it out while I waited for your telephone call. Here goes. Idris Campanula was about fifty years of age. She came to the Red House as a child of twelve to live with her uncle, General Campanula, who adopted her on the death of her parents. He was an old bachelor and the girl was brought up by his acidulated sister, whom my father used to call one of the nastiest women he’d ever met. When Idris was about thirty, the general died, and his sister only survived him a couple of years. The house and money, a lot of money by the way, were left to Idris, who by that time was shaping pretty much like her aunt. Nil nisi and all that, but it’s a fact. She never had a chance. Starved and repressed and hung about with a mass of shibboleths and Victorian conversation. Well, here she’s stayed for the last twenty years, living on rich food, good works and local scandal. Upon my word, it’s incredible that she’s gone. Look here, I’m being too diffuse, aren’t I?”

“Not a bit. You’re giving us a picture in the round which is what we like.”

“Well, there she was until to-night. I don’t know if you’ve heard from Roper about the play.”

“We haven’t had time,” said Alleyn, “but I hope to get volumes from him before dawn.”

Roper looked gratified and drew nearer.

“The play was got up by a group of local people.”

“Of whom you were one,” said Alleyn.

“Hullo!” Dr. Templett took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at Alleyn. “Now, did any one tell you that, or is this the real stuff?”

“I’m afraid it’s not even up to Form i at Hendon. There’s a trace of grease paint in your hair. I wish I could add that I have written a short monograph on grease paint.”

Dr. Templett gri

“I’ll lay you ten to-one,” he said, “that you can’t deduce what sort of part I had.”

Alleyn glanced sideways at him.

“We are not allowed to show off,” he said, “but with Inspector Fox’s austere eye on me, I venture to have a pot shot. A character part, possibly a Frenchman, wearing a rimless eyeglass. Any good?”

“Did we bet in shillings?”

“It was no bet,” said Alleyn apologetically.

“Well, let’s have the explanation,” said Templett. “I enjoy feeling a fool.”

“I’m afraid I’ll feel rather a fool making it,” said Alleyn. “It’s very small beer indeed. In the words of all detective heroes, you only need to consider. You removed your make-up in a hurry. Spirit gum, on which I have not written a monograph, leaves its mark unless removed with care and alcohol. Your chin and upper lips show signs of having been plucked and there’s a very remote trace of black crêpe hairiness. Only on the tip of your chin and not on your cheeks. Ha! A black imperial. The foreign ambassadorial touch. A sticky reddish dint by the left eye suggests a rimless glass, fixed with more spirit gum. The remains of a heated line across the brow suggests a top hat. And, when you mentioned your part, you moved your shoulders very slightly. You were thinking subconsciously of your performance. Broken English. “ ’Ow you say?” with a shrug. That sort of thing. For heaven’s sake say I’m right.”

“By gum!” said Sergeant Roper, devoutly.

“Amen,” said Dr. Templett. “In the words of Mr. Holmes — ”

“—of whom nobody shall make mock in my presence. Pray continue your most interesting narrative,” said Alleyn.

CHAPTER TEN

According to Templett

i

“— And so you see,” concluded Templett, “there is absolutely nothing about any of us that is at all out of the ordinary. You might find the same group of people in almost any of the more isolated bits of English countryside. The parson, the squire, the parson’s daughter, the squire’s son, the two church hens and the local medico.”

“And the lady from outside,” added Alleyn, looking at his notes. “You have forgotten Mrs. Ross.”

“So I have. Well, she’s simply a rather charming new-comer. That’s all. I’m blessed if I can see who, by the wildest flight of imagination, could have wanted to kill this very dull middle-aged frumpish spinster. I shouldn’t have thought she had an enemy in the world.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Sergeant Roper, unexpectedly. Alleyn looked up at him.

“No?”

“No, sir, I wouldn’t say that. To speak frankly, she was a very sharp-tongued lady. Mischievous like. Well, over-bearing. Very curious, too. Proper nosey-parker. My missus always says you couldn’t change your mind without it being overheard at the Red House. My missus is friendly with the cook up to Red House, but she never says anything she doesn’t want everybody in the village to hear about. Miss Campanula used to order the meals and then wait for the news, as you might say. They call her the Receiving Set in Chipping.”

“Do they indeed,” murmured Alleyn.

“You don’t murder people for being curious,” said Templett.

“I can’t imagine it with Miss Campanula.”

“I don’t reckon anybody did want to murder Miss Campanula,” said Roper, stolidly.

“Hullo!” Alleyn ejaculated. “What’s all this?”

“I reckon they wanted to murder Miss Prentice.”

“Good God!” said Templett. “I never thought of that!”

“Never thought of what?” said Alleyn.

“I forgot to tell you. Good Lord, what a fool! Why didn’t you remind me, Roper? Good Lord!”

“May we hear now?” asked Alleyn patiently.

“Yes, of course.”

In considerable confusion, Templett explained about Miss Prentice’s finger and the change of pianists.

“This is altogether another kettle of fish,” said Alleyn. “Let’s get a clear picture. You say that up to twenty minutes to eight Miss Prentice insisted that she was going to do the overture and entr’acte?”

“Yes. I told her three days ago she’d better give it up. There was this whitlow on her middle finger and she mucked about with it and got some sort of infection. It was very painful. D’you think she’d give in? Not a bit of it. Said she’d alter the fingering of her piece. Wouldn’t hear of giving up. I asked her to-night if she’d let me look at it. Oh, no! It was ‘much easier’! She’d got a surgical stall over it. At about twenty to eight I passed the ladies dressing-room. The door was half-open and I heard a sound like somebody crying. I could see her in there alone, rocking backwards and forwards holding this damned finger. I went in and insisted on looking at it. All puffed up and as fiery as hell! She was in floods of tears but she still said she’d manage. I put my foot down. Dinah Copeland came in, saw what was up, and fetched her father who’s got more authority over these women than anybody else. He made her give in. Old Idris, poor old girl, had turned up by then and was all agog to play the famous Prelude. She’s played it in and out of season for the last twenty years, if it’s been written as long as that. Somebody was sent off to the Red House for the music and a dress; she was dressed up for her part, you see. The rector said he’d make an a

Dr. Templett looked anxiously at Fox whose notebook was flattened out on his enormous knee.

“That’s all right, sir,” said Fox blandly. “We only want the essentials.”

“And I’m giving you all the inessentials. Sorry.”

“I didn’t say that, now, doctor.”

“We can take it,” Alleyn said, “that, in your opinion, up to twenty to eight everybody, including Miss Campanula and Miss Prentice, believed the music would be provided by Miss Prentice.”

“Certainly.”

“And this Venetian Suite was Miss Prentice’s music?”

“Yes.”