Off With His Head by Ngaio Marsh

Author:Ngaio Marsh [Marsh, Ngaio]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-02-26T04:32:54.031000+00:00

"At the side and towards the back. The left side, as you faced the dancing arena. O.P., she calls it."

"By herself?"

"Yes. Then."

"But not earlier? Before she ran away from 'Crack'?"

"No." Ralph's face slowly flooded to a deep crimson. "At least, I don't think so."

"Of course she wasn't," Dr. Otterly said in some surprise. "She came up with the party from this pub. I remember thinking what a picture the two girls made, standing there together in the torch light."

"The two girls?"

"Camilla was there with Trixie and her father."

"Was she?" Alleyn asked Ralph.

"I -- ah -- I -- yes, I believe she was."

"Mr. Stayne," Alleyn said, "you will think my next question impertinent and you may refuse to answer it. Miss Campion has been very frank about your friendship. She has told me that you are fond of each other but that, because of her mother's marriage and her own background, in its relation to yours, she feels an engagement would be a mistake."

"Which is most utter and besotted bilge," Ralph said hotly. "Good God, what age does she think she's living in! Who the hell cares if her mum was a blacksmith's daughter?"

"Perhaps she does."

"I never heard such a farrago of unbridled snobbism."

"All right. I daresay not. You said, just now, I think, that Miss Campion had refused to see you. Does that mean you haven't spoken to each other since you've been in South Mardian?"

"I really fail to understand --"

"I'm sure you don't. See here, now. Here's an old man with his head off, lying on the ground behind a sacrificial stone. Go back a bit in time. Here are eight men, including the old man, who performed a sort of play-dance as old as sin. Eight men," Alleyn repeated and vexedly rubbed his nose. "Why do I keep wanting to say 'nine'? Never mind. On the face of it, the old man never leaves the arena, or dance-floor, or stage, or whatever the hell you like to call it. On the face of it, nobody offered him any violence. He dances in full view. He has his head cut off in pantomime and in what, for want of a better word, we must call fun. But it isn't really cut off. You exchanged signals with him after the fun, so we know it isn't. He hides in a low depression. Eight minutes later, when he's meant to resurrect and doesn't, he is found to be genuinely decapitated. That's the story everybody gives us. Now, as a reasonably intelligent chap and a solicitor into the bargain, don't you think that we want to know every damn' thing we can find out about those eight men and anybody connected with them?"

"You mean -- just empirically. Hoping something will emerge?"

"Exactly. You know very well that where nothing apropos does emerge, nothing will be made public."

"Oh, no, no, no," Ralph ejaculated irritably. "I suppose I'm being tiresome. What was this blasted question? Have I spoken to Camilla since we both came to South Mardian? All right, I have.

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