Spinsters in Jeopardy by Ngaio Marsh Page A

of Charles II. He went to the bureau by Vernis-Martin, unlocked it, and presently laid before Alleyn a book bound in grey silk on which a design had been painted in violet, green and repellent pink.
    “A rare and early edition,” he said. “Carbury Glande designed and executed the cover. Do admire it!”
    Alleyn opened the book at the page. It was a copy of
The Memoirs of Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade
.
    “A present,” said Baradi, “from Mr. Oberon.”
    It was unnecessary, Alleyn decided, to look any further for the chink in Dr. Baradi’s armour.
    From this moment, when he set down his empty goblet on the table in Dr. Baradi’s room, his visit to the Chèvre d’Argent developed into a covert battle between himself and the doctor. The matter under dispute was Alleyn’s departure. He was determined to stay for as long as the semblance of ordinary manners could be preserved. Baradi obviously wanted to get rid of him, but for reasons about which Alleyn could only conjecture, avoided any suggestion of precipitancy. Alleyn felt that his safest line was to continue in the manner of a would-be disciple to the cult of the Children of the Sun. Only thus, he thought, could he avoid planting in Baradi a rising suspicion of his own motives. He must be a bore, a persistent bore, but no more than a bore. And he went gassing on, racking his memory for remnants of esoteric gossip. Baradi spoke of a telephone call. Alleyn talked of telepathic communication. Baradi said that Troy would doubtless be anxious to hear about Miss Truebody;
    Alleyn asked if Miss Truebody would not be greatly helped by the banishment of anxiety from everybody’s mind. Baradi mentioned luncheon. Alleyn prattled of the lotus posture. Baradi said he must not waste any more of Alleyn’s time; Alleyn took his stand on the postulate that time, in the commonly accepted sense of the word, did not exist. A final skirmish during which an offer to enquire for Alleyn’s car was countered by Rosicrucianism and the fiery cross of the Gnostics, ended with Baradi saying that he would have another look at Miss Truebody and must then report to Mr. Oberon. He said he would be some time and begged Alleyn not to feel he must wait for his return. At this point Baradi’s servant reappeared to say a telephone call had come through for him. Baradi at once remarked that no doubt Alleyn’s car would arrive before he returned. He regretted that Mr. Oberon’s meditation class would still be in progress and must not be interrupted, and he suggested that Alleyn might care to wait for his car in the hall or in the library. Alleyn said that he would very much like to stay where he was and to examine the de Sade. With a flush of exasperation mounting on his heavy cheeks, Baradi consented, and went out, followed by his man.
    They had turned to the right and gone down the passage to the hall. The rings on an embossed leather curtain in the entrance clashed as they went through.
    Alleyn was already squatting at the Vernis-Martin bureau.
    He had the reputation in his department of uncanny accuracy when a quick search was in question. It’s doubtful if he ever acted more swiftly than now. Baradi had left the bottom drawer of the bureau open.
    It contained half a dozen books, each less notorious if more infamous than the de Sade, and all on the proscribed list at Scotland Yard. He lifted them one by one and replaced them.
    The next drawer was locked but yielded to the application of a skeleton-key Alleyn had gleaned from a housebreaker of virtuosity. It contained three office ledgers and two note-books. The entries in the first ledger were written in a script that Alleyn took to be Egyptian but occasionally there appeared proper names in English characters. Enormous sums of money were shown in several currencies: piastres, francs, pounds and lire neatly flanked each other in separate columns. He turned the pages rapidly, his hearing fixed on the passage outside, his mind