Overture to Death

The rector was speaking: “—Terribly distressed. It is appalling to think that among the people one knows so well there should have been one heart that nursed such dreadful anger against a fellow-creature.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “The impulse to kill, I suppose, is dormant in most people; but when it finds expression we are so shockingly astonished. I have noticed that very often. The reaction after murder is nearly always one of profound astonishment.”

“To me,” said Dinah, “the most horrible thing about this business is the grotesque side of it. It’s like an appalling joke.”

“You’ve heard the way of it, then?”

“I don’t suppose there’s a soul within twenty miles who hasn’t,” said Dinah.

“Ah,” said Alleyn. “The industrious Roper.”

He lit his pipe and, looking over his thin hands at them, said, “Before I forget, did either of you put a box outside one of the hall windows late on Friday or some time on Saturday?”

“No.”

“No.”

“I see. It’s no matter.”

The rector said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but have you any idea at all of who—?”

“None,” said Alleyn. “At the moment, none. There are so many things to be cleared up before the case can begin to make a pattern. One of them concerns the key of the hall. Where was it on Friday?”

“On a nail between an outhouse and the main building,” said Dinah.

“I thought that was only on Saturday.”

“No. I left it there on Friday for the Friendly Circle members who worked in the lunch hour. They moved the furniture and swept up, and things. When they left at two o’clock they hung the key on the nail.”

“But Miss Campanula tried to get in at about half-past two and couldn’t.”

“I don’t think Miss Campanula knew about the key. I told the girls, and I think I said something about it at the dress rehearsal in case the others wanted to get in, but I’m pretty sure Miss Campanula had gone by then. We’ve never hung it there before.”

“Did you go to the hall on Friday?”

“Yes,” said Dinah. “I went in the lunch hour to supervise the work. I came away before they had quite finished, and returned here.”

“And then you walked up Top Lane towards Pen Cuckoo?”

“Yes,” said Dinah in surprise, and into her eyes came that same guarded look he had seen in Henry’s.

“Was Georgie Biggins in the hall when you left at about two o’clock?”

“Yes. Making life hideous with his masterly water-pistol. He is a naughty boy, Daddy,” said Dinah. “I really think you ought to exorcise Georgie. I’m sure he’s possessed of a devil.”

“Then you haven’t heard about Georgie?” murmured Alleyn. “Roper has his points.”

“What about Georgie?”

Alleyn told them.

“I want,” he said, “to make as little as possible of the obvious implication. There seems to be little doubt that Georgie, plus Twiddletoy, and his water-pistol made the bullets that the murderer subsequently fired. It’s an unpleasant responsibility to lay on a small boy’s shoulders, however bad he may be. I’m afraid it must come out in evidence, but as far as possible I think we ought to try and avoid village gossip.”

“Certainly,” said the rector. “At the same time, he knew he was doing something wrong. The terrible consequences — ”

“Are disproportionately terrible, don’t you think.”

“I do. I agree with you,” said Dinah.

Alleyn, seeing priest’s logic in the rector’s eye, hurried on.

“You will see,” he said, “that the substitution of the Colt for the water-pistol must have taken place after two o’clock on Friday when Georgie was flourishing his pistol. I know he stayed behind on Friday and rigged it up. He had admitted this. Miss Campanula’s chauffeur, at her request, looked through the open window at two-thirty and saw the piano with the top open. His story leads us to believe that at that time Georgie was hiding somewhere in the building. Georgie did not tell me that at all willingly, and I confess I am afraid the memory of Miss Campanula, banging at the doors and demanding admittance, is likely to become a childish nightmare. I don’t pretend to understand child psychology.”

“The law,” said Dinah, “in the person of her officer, seems to be surprisingly merciful.”

Alleyn disregarded this.

“So that gives us two-thirty on Friday as a starting-off point. You, Miss Copeland, walked up Top Lane and by chance encountered Mr. Henry Jernigham.”

“What!” the rector ejaculated. “Dinah!”

“It’s all right,” said Dinah in a high voice. “It was by accident, Daddy. I did meet Henry and we did behave as you might have expected. Our promise was almost up. It’s my fault. I couldn’t help it.”

“Miss Prentice arrived some time later, I believe,” said Alleyn.

“Has she told you that?”

“Mr. Henry Jernigham told me and Miss Prentice agreed. Do you mind, Miss Copeland, describing what happened at this triple encounter?”

“If they haven’t told you,” said Dinah, “I won’t.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Confession From a Priest

i

Won’t you?” said Alleyn mildly. “That’s a pity. We shall have to do the Peer Gynt business.”

“What’s that?”

“Go roundabout. Ask servants about the relationship between Miss Prentice and her young cousin. Tap the fabulous springs of village gossip — all that.”

“I thought,” flashed Dinah, “that nowadays the C.I.D. was almost a gentleman’s job.”

“Oh, no!” said Alleyn. “You couldn’t be more mistaken.”

Her face was scarlet. “That was a pretty squalid remark of mine,” said Dinah.

“It was inexcusable, my dear,” said her father. “I am ashamed that you have been capable of it.”

“I find no offence it in at all,” Alleyn said cheerfully. “It was entirely apposite.”

But Mr. Copeland’s face was pink with embarrassment, and Dinah’s still crimson with mortification. The rector addressed her as if she was a children’s service. His voice became more markedly clerical, and in the movement of his head Alleyn recognised one of his pulpit ma

“She wasn’t!” exclaimed Dinah, rallying a little. “She wasn’t a bit like that. She was absolutely livid with rage and beastliness.”

“Dinah!”

“Oh, Daddy, why do you shut your eyes? You must know what she’s like — you of all people!”

“Dinah, I must insist — ”

“No!” cried Dinah. “No! First you say I’ve been underhand; and then, when I go all upperhand and open, you don’t like it any better. I’m sorry in a way that Henry and I didn’t stay the course; but we nearly did, and I won’t think there was anything very awful about Friday afternoon. I won’t have Henry and me made seem grubby. I’m sorry I was rude to Mr. Alleyn and I — well, I mean it’s quite obvious it wasn’t only rude, but silly. I mean, it’s obvious from the way he’s taken it — I mean — oh, hell! Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry.”

Alleyn choked down a laugh.

The rector said, “Dinah! Dinah!”

“Yes, well, I am sorry. And now Mr. Alleyn will think heaven knows what about Friday afternoon. I may as well tell you, Mr. Alleyn, that in Henry’s and my opinion Miss Prentice is practically ravers. It’s a well-known phenomenon with old maids. She’s tried to sublimate her natural appetites and — and — work them off in religion. I can’t help it, Daddy, she has. And it’s been a failure. She’s only repressed and repressed, and when she sees two natural, healthy people making love to each other she goes off pop.”