Singing in the Shrouds: Inspector Roderick Alleyn #20 by Marsh Ngaio

Author:Marsh, Ngaio
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2014-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Tim and Jemima got up. Tim said automatically, “I’m afraid we’ve been trespassing on your footrests,” and hoped this would account for any embarrassment they might have displayed.

“My dear old boy!” Dale cried. “Do use the whole tatty works! Whenever you like, as far as I’m concerned. And I’m sure madam would be enchanted.”

He had an armful of cushions and rugs which he began to arrange on the chaise longues. “Madam tends to emerge for a nice cuppa,” he explained. He punched a cushion with all the aplomb of the manservant in Charley’s Aunt and flung it into position. “There now!” he said. He straightened up, pulled a pipe out of his pocket, gripped it mannishly between his teeth, contrived to tower over Jemima, and became avuncular.

“As for you, young woman,” he said, cocking his head quizzically at her. “You’ve been letting a particularly lively imagination run away with you. What?”

This was said with such an exact reproduction of his television manner that Tim, in spite of his own agitation, felt momentarily impelled to whistle “Pack Up Your Troubles.” However, he said quickly, “It wasn’t as morbid as it sounded. Jemima and I have been having an argument about the alibi bet and that led to inevitable conjectures about the flower expert.”

“M-m-m,” Dale rumbled understandingly, still looking at Jemima. “I see.” He screwed his face into a whimsical grimace. “You know, Jemima, I’ve got an idea we’ve just about had that old topic. After all, it’s not the prettiest one in the world, is it? What do you think? Um?”

Pink with embarrassment, Jemima said coldly, “I feel sure you’re right.”

“Good girl,” Aubyn Dale said, and patted her shoulder.

Tim muttered that it was tea-time and withdrew Jemima firmly to the starboard side. It was a relief to him to be angry.

“My God, what a frightful fellow,” he fulminated. “That egregious nice-chappery! That ineffable decency! That indescribably phony good-will!”

“Never mind,” Jemima said. “I daresay he has to keep in practice. And, after all, little as I relish admitting it, he was in fact right. I suppose I have been letting my imagination run away with me.”

Tim stood over her, put his head on one side, and achieved a quite creditable imitation of Aubyn Dale. “Good girl,” he said unctuously, and patted her shoulder.

Jemima made a satisfactory response to this sally and seemed to be a good deal cheered. “Of course,” she said, “I didn’t really think we’d shipped a murderer; it was just one of those things.” She looked up into Tim’s face.

“Jemima!” he said, and took her hands in his.

“No, don’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Pay no attention. Let’s go and talk to Mr. Chips.”

They found Mr. Merryman in full cry. He had discovered Jemima’s book, The Elizabethans, which she had left on her deck-chair, and seemed to be giving a lecture on it. It was by an authoritative writer, but one, evidently, with whom Mr. Merryman found himself in passionate disagreement. It appeared that Alleyn, Father Jourdain, and Miss Abbott had all been drawn into the discussion while Mr.

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