What do you think?’
But Julia paid no attention.
‘Ricky,’ she said. ‘It couldn’t be – or could it? – that the police – what is it that’s always said in the papers – don’t rule out the possibility of “foul play”? Could it be that, Ricky?’
‘I don’t know. Truly I don’t know,’ Ricky said. And then, acutely conscious of their fixed regard, he blurted out what he had in fact been thinking.
‘I had wondered,’ said Ricky.
III
‘ “So I thought,” ’ Alleyn read aloud, ‘ “I’d ask you if the idea’s just plain silly. And if you don’t think it’s silly, whether you think I ought to say anything to Sergeant Plank or whether that would be behaving like the typical idiot layman. Or, finally, whether it’s a guinea to a gooseberry, Sergeant Plank will have thought of it for himself –” which,’ Alleyn said, looking up from the letter, ‘will certainly be the case if Sergeant Plank’s worth his stripes.’
‘Wouldn’t we much rather Rick kept out of it, whatever it may be, and got on with his book?’ asked Ricky’s mother.
‘Very much rather. Drat the boy, why does he want to go and get himself involved?’ Alleyn rubbed his nose and looked sideways at his wife. ‘Quite neat of him to spot that bit, though, wasn’t it? “Obviously recent,” he says.’
‘Should we suggest he comes home?’ Troy wondered, and then: ‘No. Silly of me. Why on earth, after all?’
‘He may be called when the inquest is re-opened, in which case he’d have to go trundling back. No, I shouldn’t worry. It’s odds on there’s nothing in it, and he’s perfectly well able to cope, after all, with anything that may turn up.’ Alleyn returned to the letter. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that Julia was dreadfully upset but rallied gallantly and gave her evidence quite beautifully. So that’s still on the tapis, one gathers.’
‘I hope she’s not finding him a bore.’
‘Does a woman ever dislike the admiration of a reasonably presentable young chap?’
‘True.’
‘He really does seem to have struck a rum set-up one way or another,’ said Alleyn, still reading. ‘What with his odd-jobbing plumber of a landlord dressed up like a con man at the crack of dawn and going on holiday to St Pierre-des-Roches.’
‘It’s a pretty little peep of a place. I painted it when I was a stu-dent. The egregious Syd has made a regrettable slosh at it. But it’s hardly the spot for camel-hair coats and zoot-suits.’
‘Perhaps Ferrant uses it as a jumping-off place for the sophisticated south.’
‘And then there’s Louis Pharamond,’ said Troy, pursuing her own thoughts, ‘having had some sort of affair with poor Miss Harkness, doesn’t it seem? Or does it?’
‘In company with your visitor with the free paints and the dizzy spell. And listen to this,’ said Alleyn. ‘ “My Mrs Ferrant reacts very acidly to mention of Dulcie Harkness, even though she does make obligatory non nisi noises. I can’t help wondering if Mr Ferrant’s roving eye has lit some time or another on Miss Harkness.” Really!’ said Alleyn, ‘The Island jollities seem to be of a markedly uninhibited kind. And Miss Harkness of an unusually obliging disposition.’
‘Bother!’ said Troy.
‘I know. And then, why should the egregious Jones scream with rage when Ricky trod on his vermilion? There’s plenty more wherethat came from, it seems. For free. And if it comes to that, why should Jones take it into his head to cut Rick? Apparently he would neither look at, nor speak to him. Not a word about having taken a luncheon off us, it appears.’
‘He’s a compulsive boor, of course. Mightn’t we be making far too much of a series of unrelated and insignificant little happenings?’
‘Of course we might,’ Alleyn agreed warmly. He finished reading his son’s letter, folded it and put it down. ‘He’s taken pains over that,’ he said. ‘Very long and very detailed. He even goes to the trouble of
But Julia paid no attention.
‘Ricky,’ she said. ‘It couldn’t be – or could it? – that the police – what is it that’s always said in the papers – don’t rule out the possibility of “foul play”? Could it be that, Ricky?’
‘I don’t know. Truly I don’t know,’ Ricky said. And then, acutely conscious of their fixed regard, he blurted out what he had in fact been thinking.
‘I had wondered,’ said Ricky.
III
‘ “So I thought,” ’ Alleyn read aloud, ‘ “I’d ask you if the idea’s just plain silly. And if you don’t think it’s silly, whether you think I ought to say anything to Sergeant Plank or whether that would be behaving like the typical idiot layman. Or, finally, whether it’s a guinea to a gooseberry, Sergeant Plank will have thought of it for himself –” which,’ Alleyn said, looking up from the letter, ‘will certainly be the case if Sergeant Plank’s worth his stripes.’
‘Wouldn’t we much rather Rick kept out of it, whatever it may be, and got on with his book?’ asked Ricky’s mother.
‘Very much rather. Drat the boy, why does he want to go and get himself involved?’ Alleyn rubbed his nose and looked sideways at his wife. ‘Quite neat of him to spot that bit, though, wasn’t it? “Obviously recent,” he says.’
‘Should we suggest he comes home?’ Troy wondered, and then: ‘No. Silly of me. Why on earth, after all?’
‘He may be called when the inquest is re-opened, in which case he’d have to go trundling back. No, I shouldn’t worry. It’s odds on there’s nothing in it, and he’s perfectly well able to cope, after all, with anything that may turn up.’ Alleyn returned to the letter. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that Julia was dreadfully upset but rallied gallantly and gave her evidence quite beautifully. So that’s still on the tapis, one gathers.’
‘I hope she’s not finding him a bore.’
‘Does a woman ever dislike the admiration of a reasonably presentable young chap?’
‘True.’
‘He really does seem to have struck a rum set-up one way or another,’ said Alleyn, still reading. ‘What with his odd-jobbing plumber of a landlord dressed up like a con man at the crack of dawn and going on holiday to St Pierre-des-Roches.’
‘It’s a pretty little peep of a place. I painted it when I was a stu-dent. The egregious Syd has made a regrettable slosh at it. But it’s hardly the spot for camel-hair coats and zoot-suits.’
‘Perhaps Ferrant uses it as a jumping-off place for the sophisticated south.’
‘And then there’s Louis Pharamond,’ said Troy, pursuing her own thoughts, ‘having had some sort of affair with poor Miss Harkness, doesn’t it seem? Or does it?’
‘In company with your visitor with the free paints and the dizzy spell. And listen to this,’ said Alleyn. ‘ “My Mrs Ferrant reacts very acidly to mention of Dulcie Harkness, even though she does make obligatory non nisi noises. I can’t help wondering if Mr Ferrant’s roving eye has lit some time or another on Miss Harkness.” Really!’ said Alleyn, ‘The Island jollities seem to be of a markedly uninhibited kind. And Miss Harkness of an unusually obliging disposition.’
‘Bother!’ said Troy.
‘I know. And then, why should the egregious Jones scream with rage when Ricky trod on his vermilion? There’s plenty more wherethat came from, it seems. For free. And if it comes to that, why should Jones take it into his head to cut Rick? Apparently he would neither look at, nor speak to him. Not a word about having taken a luncheon off us, it appears.’
‘He’s a compulsive boor, of course. Mightn’t we be making far too much of a series of unrelated and insignificant little happenings?’
‘Of course we might,’ Alleyn agreed warmly. He finished reading his son’s letter, folded it and put it down. ‘He’s taken pains over that,’ he said. ‘Very long and very detailed. He even goes to the trouble of
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