Black Plumes: A Standout, Standalone Mystery from the Queen of Crime by Margery Allingham

Author:Margery Allingham [Allingham, Margery]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Agora Books
Published: 2017-10-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The detective was sitting stolidly in the hall waiting for them as they came up the steps. He was apologetic. Divisional Detective Inspector Bridie, he assured them, was more than sorry to have to ask Miss Ivory to come out again at this time of night, but if she would come down to headquarters for a minute or two he would be eternally grateful.

There was not the slightest hint of compulsion in the request. It was almost abject. But the time was queer, and the urgency was queer, and Frances felt again the little stab of fear under her diaphragm.

David went with them as a matter of course, and the plainclothes man made no objection. It was an uncomfortable journey, with the two sitting stiffly in the back of a taxi and the detective silent on an occasional seat in front of them. It had begun to rain heavily again when they stumbled out across the slippery pavement, up a worn flight of steps, and crossed under the blue light into a narrow corridor neatly decorated in government green. They passed an open doorway through which they caught a glimpse of the homely charge sergeant’s office and went on up uncarpeted stairs to a waiting room which might have belonged to any railway station. There was a young constable standing by the door, and behind him, seated at the table and looking as if she was going to drop with fatigue, was Miss Dorset, of all people.

Their escort cut short any mutual greetings with a hurried apology.

“It sounds funny, I know, but I wonder if you’d mind, miss? No talking,” he said. “It won’t be for long. It’s only regulations.”

He nodded to the constable, who went off at once, leaving them all looking at one another awkwardly. Frances was openly nervous. She looked peculiarly out of place in her long white fur coat in the rigidly utilitarian surroundings. David stood close to her, dropping his hand unostentatiously over her own.

They waited for a full minute before the clatter on the boards outside announced the return of the constable. He came in ponderously, and his young eyes rested on her with open boyish admiration.

“This way, miss,” he said, beaming. “Me inspector was sorry to keep you waiting.”

It was all very formal and old fashioned, as if the law were some elderly gentleman with a pleasant taste in servants if none in furnishings.

She left David without a glance and went with him, and afterwards, when she thought of it again, it seemed symbolic.

Bridie was sitting behind his desk, a pair of steel spectacles on the tip of his nose and no trace of weariness in his bearing. He rose when she came in and set a chair for her himself, waving the constable out of the room as he did so.

“This is a fine time to ask ye to come and see me. Did ye think ye were coming to chail?” he said cheerfully. “Would ye like a cigarette?” He indicated the ornate box on his desk but did not offer it and seemed mildly relieved when she refused.

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