Death in a White Tie Read Online Free PDF Page A

helped us before and we’ll be damn glad if you help us again. You go everywhere, Bunchy,” said Alleyn with a smile at his little friend. “You toddle in and out of all the smart houses. Lovely ladies confide in you. Heavy colonels weep on your bosom. See what you can see.”
    “Can’t break confidences, you know, can I! Supposing I get ’em.”
    “Of course you can’t, but you can do a little quiet investigation on your own account and tell us as much as—” Alleyn paused and added quickly: “As much as a man of integrity may. Will you?”
    “Love to!” said Lord Robert with a great deal of energy. “Matter of fact, but it’d be a rum go if it was — coincidence.”
    “What?”
    “Well. Well, see here, Roderick, this is between ourselves. Thing is, as I told you, I called on Evelyn Carrados this morning. Passing that way and saw a feller selling daffodils so thought I’d take her some. Damn pretty woman, Evelyn, but—” He screwed up his face. “Saddish. Never got over Paddy’s death, if you ask me. Devoted to the gel and the gel to her, but if you ask me Carrados comes the high horse a bit. Great pompous exacting touchy sort of feller, ain’t he? Evelyn was in bed. Snowed under with letters. Secretary. Carrados on the hearth-rug looking injured. Bridget came in later on. Well now. Carrados said he’d be off to the City. Came over to the bed and gave her the sort of kiss a woman doesn’t thank you for. Hand each side of her. Right hand under the pillow.”
    Lord Robert’s voice suddenly skipped an octave and became high-pitched. He leant forward with his hands on his knees, looking very earnestly at Alleyn. He moved his lips rather in the manner of a rabbit and then said explosively:
    “It was singular. It was damned odd. He must have touched a letter under her pillow because when he straightened up it was in his right hand — a common-looking envelope addressed in a sort of script — letters like they print ’em only done by hand.”
    Alleyn glanced quickly at the file but said nothing.
    “Carrados said: ‘Oh, one of your letters, m’dear,’ squinting at it through his glass and then putting it down on the counterpane. ‘Beg pardon,’ or something. Thing is, she turned as white as the sheet. I promise you as white as anything, on my honour. And she said: ‘It’s from one of my lame ducks. I must deal with it,’ and slid it under the others. Off he went, and that was that. I talked about their ball and so on and paid my respects and pretended I’d noticed nothing, of course, and, in short, I came away.”
    Still Alleyn did not speak. Suddenly Lord Robert jabbed at the letter in the file with his fat finger.
    “Thing is,” he said most emphatically. “Same sort of script.”
    “Exactly the same? I mean, would you swear to the same writer?”
    “No, no! ’Course not. Only got a glimpse of the other, but I rather fancy myself on handwriting, you know.”
    “We rather fancy you, too.”
    “It was very similar,” said Lord Robert. “It was exceedingly similar. On my honour.”
    “Good Lord,” said Alleyn mildly. “That’s what the Americans call a break. Coincidence stretches out a long arm. So does the law. ‘Shake,’ says Coincidence. Not such a very long arm, after all, if this pretty fellow is working among one class only and it looks as if he is.” He shoved a box of cigarettes in Lord Robert’s direction. “We had an expert at that letter — the Mrs H-H one you’ve got there. Woolworth paper. She didn’t show us the envelope, of course. Woolworth ink and the sort of nib they use for script writing. It’s square with a feeder. You notice the letters are all neatly fitted between the ruled lines. That and the script nib and the fact that the letters are careful copies of ordinary print completely knocks out any sort of individuality. There were no finger-prints and Mrs Halcut-Hackett hadn’t noticed the postmark. Come in!”
    A police constable marched in with a