Tied Up in Tinsel

She lifted her hand from her lips, sketched the gesture of blowing him a kiss, and contrived a smile. “I’ll come,” said Cressida. The Colonel nodded and left them. Alleyn opened the door for him. Before he could shut it again Mr. Fox appeared. Alleyn went out to him, pulling the door to. According to its habit it clicked and opened a few inches.

Fox rumbled at some length. Isolated words reached the listeners round the fire. “Finished… dressing-room… nothing… latent… urgent.”

Alleyn said, “Yes. All right. Tell the men to assemble in the stable yard. I want to speak to them. Tell Bailey and Thompson to leave the box out and the dressing-room unlocked. We’ve finished up there. Colonel Forrester will open the box when he’s ready to do so.”

“It’s an urgent phone call, Mr. Alleyn.”

“Yes. All right. I’ll take it. Away you go.”

He started off, clapped his hand to his waistcoat and said: “Damn, I forgot. The key of the box?”

“I’ve got it. Nothing for us, there.”

“Let the Colonel have it, then, will you, Fox?”

“Very good, sir.”

“I’ll take this call in the drawing-room. I’ll probably be some time over it. Carry on, Fox, will you? Collect the men outside at the back.”

“Certainly, sir,” Fox said.

Fox shut the library door and Alleyn went into the hall.

But he didn’t speak on the drawing-room, or any other, telephone. He ran upstairs two steps at a time, jolting discomfort to his left arm, and sought out his wife in their room.

“My love,” he said. “I want you to stay put. Here. And be a triple ape.”

“What on earth’s a triple ape?”

Alleyn rapidly touched her eyes, ears and lips.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “I see. And I don’t breathe either, I suppose.”

“There’s my girl. Now listen —”

He had not gone far with what he had to say before there was a knock on the door. At a nod from him, Troy called out, “Just a second. Who is it?”

The door opened a crack.

Fox whispered, “Me.”

Alleyn went to him. “Well?”

“Like a lamb,” said Fox, “to the slaughter.”

Ten — Departure

“What I got to say,” said Mr. Smith, “is important and I’ll thank you to hear me out. When I’ve said it, I’ll welcome comment, but hear me out first. It’s a bit of luck for us that flipping door opens of itself. You heard. He’s got a phone call and he’s going to talk to his mob in the backyard. That gives us a breather. All right. He’s made up his mind, Gawd knows why, that your lovely lot’s out of it, ’Illy. That means — it’s got to mean — ’e’s settled for one of us. So what we say in the next confrontation is bloody important. No, Missus, don’t butt in. Your turn’s coming.

“Now. We know Alf Moult was alive when ’e finished ’is act and waltzed out of the drawing-room winder looking a proper charlie and all. We know ’e was alive when ’e ’ad ’is whiskers taken off. We know ’e was left, alive, in the cloakroom. And that’s all we do know of our own observations. So. The important thing for us is to be able to account for ourselves, all of us, from the time we last see ’im. Right? A-course it’s right.

“Well then. As it appears, we all can answer for the fair sex in the person of Cressy Tottenham. Matter of a minute after Alf finished his act, Cressy come in, having removed his whiskers for ’im, and she certainly hadn’t ’ad time to do ’im in and dispose of ’is body.”

“Look here, Uncle Bert —”

“All right, all right, all right! I said she couldn’t of, didn’t I? So she couldn’t of. This is important. From Cressy’s point of view. Because she seems to of been the last to see ’im alive. Except of course, ’is slayer, and that puts ’er in a special category.”

“It does nothing of the sort,” Hilary said.

“Don’t be silly, Hilary,” said his aunt. “Go on, Smith.”

“Ta. To resume. I was coming to you, Missus. Cressy come in an’ mentioned to you it was Alf and not the Colonel done the Daddy Christmas act and you lit off. Where did you go?”

“To my husband. Naturally.”

“Straight off? Direct?”

“Certainly. To our bedroom.”

“You didn’t look in on the dressing-room?”

“I did not.”

“Can you prove it?”

Mrs. Forrester reddened angrily. “No,” she said.

“That’s unfortunate, i

“Nonsense. Don’t be impertinent.”

“Ah, for Gawd’s sake!”

“Aunt B, he’s trying to help us.”

“When I require help I’ll ask for it.”

“You require it now, you silly old bag,” said Mr. Smith.

“How dare you speak to me like that!”

“Uncle Bert — really.”

“And what about yourself, ’Illy? We’ll be coming to you in a sec. Where was I? Oh, yes. With Cressy in the drawing-room. She tells you two about the job and one after another you leave the room. Where did you go?”

“I? I looked for Moult to thank him. I looked in the cloakroom and the library and I went upstairs to see if he was there. And I visited Uncle Flea and Aunt B was with him and finally I joined you all in the dining-room.”

“There you are,” said Mr. Smith. “So if Alf Moult went upstairs you or your auntie or (supposing ’e ’adn’t ’ad one of ’is turns) your uncle, could of done ’im in.”

“Well — my dear Uncle Bert — ‘could have’! Yes, I suppose so. But so could —” Hilary stopped short.

“So could who? I couldn’t of. Mrs. Alleyn couldn’t of. Cressy couldn’t of. We was all sitting down to our Christmas di

Mrs. Forrester said, “Are we to take it, Smith, that your attitude is entirely altruistic? If you are persuaded that you are completely free of suspicion, why all this fuss?”

“I

“I’m sure,” she said, “we’re very much obliged to you, Smith. There’s one aspect of this affair, however, that I think you have overlooked.”

She paused, thrust her hands up the opposite sleeves of her magenta cardigan and rested them on her stomach. “Isn’t it possible,” she said, “that Moult was done away with much later in the evening? Your uncle, Hilary, will not care to admit it but Moult did, from time to time, indulge in drinking bouts. I think it extremely likely this was such an occasion. Cressida considers he had drink concealed about his person. He may well have taken it after his performance, hidden himself away somewhere, possibly in a car, and thus eluded the searchers and emerged later in the evening — to be murdered.”

“You’ve thought it all out very nice and tidy, ’aven’t you?” sneered Mr. Smith.

“And so, you may depend upon it, has Mr. Alleyn,” she retorted.

“The search was very thorough, Aunt Bed.”

“Did they look in the cars?”

Hilary was silent.

“In which case,” Mrs. Forrester said exactly as if he had answered, “I ca

“What about yourself?” Smith asked.

“I?” she said with her customary spirit. “No doubt I could have killed Moult. I had no conceivable motive for killing him but no doubt I could have done so.”

“Nothing simpler. You go up to the Colonel, who’s on ’is bed and asleep. You hear Alf Moult in the dressing-room. You go froo the barfroom into the dressing-room, pick up the poker and Bob’s your uncle. You shove the corpse out of the winder.” Mr. Smith caught himself up. “You did say Vince and Co. picked it up under the winder, didn’t you, ’Illy?”

“I don’t think I said anything about it. But according to Alleyn, yes, they did.”

“The modus operandi you have outlined, Smith, could have been used by anybody if my theory is correct. You’ve talked a great deal but you’ve proved nothing, I said you’ve —”