Surfeit of Lampreys by Ngaio Marsh Page A

she lifted her head and looked. A little above the place where Lord Wutherwood had sat was a bright steel boss in the lift wall. In the centre of the boss was a small hollow which seemed to be stained. As she stared at it the stain grew longer. She heard a tap, a tiny dab of sound. She looked at the leather top of the seat. In the dent made by Lord Wutherwood she saw a little black pool where his blood had dropped from the stain on the wall. Back to the pantry, running as fast as she could go…A yellow duster…Then the lift again…It had looked so small a pool but it spread into her cloth and smeared over the leather…Now the wall. She heard a bell ringing. That would be someone who wanted the lift. Back on the landing, she slammed the doors and the lift at once sank beneath her fingers. Henry came out from 26 and looked at the cloth in her hands. He seemed like a figure in a dream and spoke like one.
    â€œClever Robin,” said Henry. “But it won’t do much good, you know. You can’t wipe away murder.”
    Roberta had pushed that word out of her thoughts. She said: “It’s not that—I mean I wasn’t trying to do that. Only people will be using the lift. It looked so frightful.”
    Henry took the cloth from her.
    â€œThere’s a fire in the dining-room,” he said.
    Roberta remembered her errands. “Have you seen Tinkerton and Giggle?”
    â€œI don’t think they’re in the flat. Why?”
    â€œThey must be in the car. Charlot wants them told.”
    â€œI’ll go,” Henry offered.
    â€œNo, please. If you’ll do—that.”
    â€œAll right,” said Henry and went away with the cloth.
    Roberta was running downstairs…Four landings with blank walls and steel numbers…Long windows…Heavy carpet under her feet. The lift passed her, bearing an immobile man in an overcoat and a bowler hat, carrying a bag in his hand…Now the entrance hall with the porter who looked bewildered and perturbed and stared at Roberta. She remembered his name.
    â€œOh, Stamford, have you seen Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur?”
    â€œYes, Miss. He’s in his lordship’s car. My Gawd, Miss, what’s gone wrong?’’
    â€œSomeone has been taken ill.”
    â€œThe screaming, Miss. It was something frightful.”
    â€œI know. A fit of hysterics. We’re sorry about the lift. There’s been an accident.”
    Better, she thought, to say something about it. The doctor might have said something. She walked quickly through the entrance into the street. The sun had set on London and there was an evening coolness in the air. The sensation of dream receded a little. There was the car, a large grand car with Giggle sitting at the wheel and a woman in a drab hat beside him. They did not notice Roberta and she had to tap on the window, making them jump. Giggle got out and came round to her, touching his cap.
    â€œGiggle,” Roberta began, wishing he had another name, “there’s been an accident.”
    He looked at her, maddeningly stolid.
    â€œAn accident, Miss?”
    â€œYes, to Lord Wutherwood. He’s hurt himself. Lady Charles thinks you had better come up.”
    â€œYes, Miss. Will Miss Tinkerton be needed, Miss?”
    Roberta didn’t know. She said: “I think perhaps you should both come. Lady Wutherwood may want Tinkerton.”
    They followed her into the hall. The lift was down again. Stamford opened the doors. Conquering a sudden and violent reluctance, Roberta went in. She saw that the two servants were preparing to walk up. English servants, she thought, and said: “Will you both come up in the lift, please?”
    They got in and Giggle pressed the button. Tinkerton was a small woman with black eyes and a guarded expression. They won’t speak until I do, thought Roberta.
    â€œThe doctor has come,” she said. “It’s an upset, isn’t