The Best of British Crime omnibus by Andrew Garve, David Williams, Francis Durbridge

started to happen at once. People were appearing from all directions and in a few moments pandemonium had broken loose. A chambermaid looked in and went out screaming and Schofield shot across the corridor from his room opposite and Tanya burst in wanting to know what on earth was happening and took one look at Mullett’s head and collapsed in a faint. The floor manageress arrived and Waterhouse with the manager and presently the doctor turned up and Islwyn and Bolting and hordes of Russians. Perdita came in and said ‘Oh my God how horrible!’ and went out looking as though she were going to be sick. The babel was unspeakable both inside and outside the room. In the middle of all the confusion a man arrived from the Radio Centre with of all things a packet for Mullett.
    I took advantage of the temporary chaos to have a look round the room and try to fix the scene in my mind. The room itself was practically a replica of mine except that everything was the other way round. There was a tray on the floor by the door – Nikolai’s tray – with a full bottle of mineral water on it. There was a screwed-up hand towel lying near the body and when I looked in the bathroom I saw that Mullett’s hand towel was missing. I glanced automatically at the balcony windows but of course like everyone else’s they were sealed. There were no clues that I could see unless you counted a soaking-wet two-day-old copy of Pravda and an empty tin with a trace of water at the bottom which I unearthed from the waste-paper basket and put back there. Apart from a framed picture of Stalin that hung slightly askew on the wall and looked as though it might have been jerked out of place there were no indications of a struggle. I’d have liked to go over the room with a fine comb but in a few moments a couple of militiamen arrived and after some noisy argument we were all drummed out into the corridor. The door was closed on Mullett and whatever secrets his room held, and one of the militia-men mounted guard over it. The other instructed us not to leave but made no attempt to question anybody. Higher authority was evidently being invoked.
    The newspapermen were trying to get as much information as they could while the opportunity lasted. Nikolai had already told his story. He had, it seemed, been crossing the fourth floor landing soon after nine o’clock on his way to the kitchen when Mullett had stepped from the lift and called to him to bring a fresh bottle of mineral water to his room. Nikolai had collected the mineral water and some vodka for two other rooms and had taken it along the corridor. Mullett’s door had been ajar. He’d knocked, and as he’d received no reply he’d gone in, intending to leave the new bottle and take away the old one. He’d seen Mullett lying on the floor soaked in blood, and had come straight along to tell us. He was asked if he’d seen anyone else in the corridor at the time and he said he didn’t think so, but he was evidently badly shaken and not in the best condition to remember.
    It was almost impossible to get anything like a clear picture of events because of all the chatter and confusion, but the floor manageress, who had been sitting at her desk near the lift, made an interesting contribution. It was actually to the manager she was talking, but we hovered on the edge of the conversation and they were both too knocked off-balance to bother about us. It seemed that Mullett had stopped to collect his key from her in the usual way and that as he’d turned to leave, Mrs Clarke had appeared on the landing in a rather noisy state. Mullett had rebuked her for her behaviour and Mrs Clarke had been extremely abusive in reply. She’d followed him and continued to abuse him as he went off to his room.
    I looked around for Mrs Clarke, but she was one of the delegates who hadn’t put in an appearance. It seemed worthwhile to find out what had happened to