Rogue's Holiday Read online

  Rogues’ Holiday

  Maxwell March

  Get exclusive Margery Allingham stories

  Sign up for the Allingham newsletter and get never before published short stories plus more Allingham content, all for free.

  Details can be found at the end of this book.

  CHAPTER I

  Murder?

  “WE LEFT HIM just as he was found, Inspector.” Lieutenant Colonel Bloom’s military training could not control the agitation in his voice. He stood, plump and breathless, looking up at the young man in front of him.

  It was eleven o’clock on a bright June morning; the sun streamed through the tall Queen Anne windows of the Senior Bluffs Club, St. James’s, lending that austere stronghold of old-fashioned wealth and snobbery a certain warmth and dusty splendour.

  But even this added grace did not dispel the atmosphere of chill alarm which had already spread throughout the building in spite of every effort at secrecy.

  This was not extraordinary, however, for a young man whose name had been entered on the club books at his birth, and whose election had been sponsored by two of the most distinguished names in the country, had committed the appalling breach of good taste of dying in a club bedroom; and, moreover, of dying in a most plebeian fashion, with the crevices of the windows stuffed with paper and the tap of the old-fashioned gas fire turned full on.

  At best it was suicide.

  Colonel Bloom, the resident secretary, did not like to think of the alternative.

  The fact that there might possibly be an alternative accounted for the presence of the young Scotland Yard man who now stood looking down at the mound on the bed over which a departing doctor had reverently spread a sheet.

  Inspector David Blest was young for his job and looked even younger than he was. The superintendent used to refer to him as “the chiel amang us.” Brains, determination, and a quality which can only be described as dogged obstinacy had got him where he was, and although his blue eyes were lazy there was something behind them which gave those of his acquaintances who had something to hide a most uncomfortable sensation.

  For the rest, he was uncommonly tall, fair-haired, lean, and not unhandsome.

  At the moment he looked a trifle sleepy, and Colonel Bloom, who did not know him, made the mistake of feeling relieved.

  “You see how it happened, Inspector,” he said in his high-pitched voice, which became squeaky in moments of stress. “Pure accident. It’s most unfortunate, of course. A terrible scandal for the club. Terrible. There will have to be an inquest, I suppose?”

  David Blest glanced at him in mild surprise, and the hope died in the Colonel’s eyes.

  “Well, naturally,” said David Blest, and went on speaking, still in the same slow pleasant tone which was one of his most charming characteristics. “Just let me run over the points again. The dead man is Eric Ingleton-Gray, of no occupation, twenty-seven years of age and unmarried——”

  “A man about town,” murmured the Colonel. “Such a good family, Inspector. His uncle, you know——”

  “Quite,” said David gently. “We needn’t worry about that now. He doesn’t need much influence to get him into his present club, I’m afraid, Colonel.”

  The resident secretary made a noncommittal if somewhat explosive sound, and the younger man continued patiently:

  “He came to bed at twelve-thirty last night. We have the evidence of the senior valet for that. And he was drunk, I understand; so drunk that the old man says he put him to bed.”

  “There you are,” said the Colonel excitedly. “A plain case. Ingleton-Gray was a young rip—I admit that. He must have stumbled out of bed, turned on the gas jet by accident, and there you are. Poor feller.”

  A faint smile passed over David’s face.

  “Do you usually keep the windows of your bedrooms stuffed up with newspaper, Colonel?”

  “No,” said the other man doggedly. “But it might have been an accident.”

  “Think so?” said Inspector Blest, and went on with his résumé. “The door was found locked this morning. Do members usually lock their doors in the club?”

  “Good heavens, no, sir! What do you think this is? A hotel?”

  The Colonel seemed to be in danger of losing his temper. But he quieted down after a moment or so.

  “Perhaps you’re right about suicide,” he said. “The key was picked up in the courtyard, under the window. He must have locked himself in, thrown it out, and stuffed up the windows afterwards; a sort of safeguard to prevent himself funking it at the last moment and rushing out to safety. Poor feller. He was in very low water financially—between ourselves.”

  David Blest nodded absently. His eyes had strayed to the key which had been brought up by a hotel servant and laid upon the mantelpiece. It had been the finding of this key which had led to the uncovering of the tragedy, but as David looked at the little instrument he could not help feeling it was a great pity that so many people had handled it since its first discovery in the yard.

  The Colonel had opened his mouth to speak but had been interrupted by the arrival of a page boy with a note. With a murmured word of apology he read it and stuffed it into his pocket.

  The page, a small boy of fourteen or so, did not go, however. He hung about, an uncomfortable expression on his little peaky face, his eyes fixed in terrified fascination on the sheet-covered mound on the bed.

  Colonel Bloom turned on him sharply.

  “What’s the matter, boy? Run along. Tell Bassett I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Still the boy did not move.

  “I wondered if I ought to tell the inspector about Mr. Ingleton-Gray, last night, sir.”

  “Certainly not. Run along at once. The inspector’s not interested.”

  Colonel Bloom appeared to be on the verge of apoplexy, but the damage had been done. David turned slowly and smiled at the boy.

  “Oh, but I am,” he said. “I’m interested in everything. What about Mr. Ingleton-Gray, son?”

  The boy, realizing his mistake, glanced at the Colonel in terror, but that gentleman shrugged his shoulders resignedly.

  “Get on with it,” he said. “And don’t tell any more than the truth.”

  Having received permission, the boy was only too anxious to talk.

  “Last night, sir, about ten o’clock, I was in the corridor outside here when I saw Mr. Ingleton-Gray come out of a room with another gentleman. Mr. Ingleton-Gray was very red. I think he’d been drinking then, sir. The other gentleman said, ‘Won’t you reconsider your decision, Eric?’ and Mr. Ingleton-Gray said, ‘No. Good God, I’ve sunk pretty low but not as low as that.’ Then he turned round and knocked the other gentleman down, sir.”

  “Did he, though?” said Blest, his eyes alight with sudden interest. “What happened then?”

  “Mr. Ingleton-Gray went on downstairs. I think he went to the lounge to get something to drink.”

  The boy evidently realized that he had lost his job anyway and was determined to get his story out.

  “Never mind about that,” said David. “What did you do?”

  “I helped the other gentleman up, sir. I thought it was funny that Mr. Ingleton-Gray should hit him, because he was an oldish gentleman, the other one, and Mr. Ingleton-Gray was quite young and much bigger.”

  “I see,” said David. “And what was the other gentleman’s name?”

  “Really, Inspector, this isn’t necessary.”

  Colonel Bloom could contain his exasperation no longer.

  “This is monstrous,” he continued. “The gentleman in question is an old and distinguished member of the club. I can’t have him brought into this distressing affair.”

  “I’m afraid you must allow me my own opinion there, Colone
l.” David’s tone was very gentle but very firm. “I must insist on the name.”

  The Colonel hunched his shoulders.

  “If you must know, it was Sir Leo Thyn. I ought to have told you about this incident, Inspector, but I thought that if we could keep a suicide verdict out of the question it would be to the general good. As it is, you can see the state of mind young Ingleton-Gray was in.

  “Go away!” he roared suddenly at the boy, who was still waiting. “Go away. You’ve done enough mischief already.”

  Blest smiled at the boy.

  “Wait for me downstairs,” he said. “I shall want your name and address,” and added as the door closed behind the youngster, “I should like a word with Sir Leo, Colonel.”

  “If you really think it necessary, Inspector.”

  “I’m afraid I do, sir.”

  “But surely, Inspector, Sir Leo’s reputation alone is sufficient to preclude the idea of his having anything to do with this affair.”

  “I should like to see Sir Leo.”

  “Oh, very well, Inspector. I’ll see if he’s in the club.”

  While the Colonel was gone David had time to consider Sir Leo Thyn. On the face of it the evidence he had just heard was extraordinary. Sir Leo was certainly not the sort of man one would expect to hear had been knocked down in a club corridor.

  In the first place he was extremely well known. For many years senior partner in a great legal firm, he had now retired, spending half his time on his country estate and half in the club. He was reputed to be enormously wealthy. But although he gave vast sums to charity, and his letters to the press urging stricter surveillance of public morals were well known, there was something not altogether pleasant about the flavour of his name.

  It occurred to David suddenly that he had never heard anything definite against him, but the fact remained that he was not altogether liked.

  David was still racking his brains for any other odd scraps of information about the man when the Colonel returned, very pink and unfriendly.

  “Sir Leo will see you, Inspector.”

  The young policeman was amused to see that he was taken by back ways, although of course he wore no sort of uniform. The Colonel was evidently anxious for the members of the Senior Bluffs to be protected from any reminder of the tragedy in their midst.

  He led David to his own private sitting room, and, as the two men entered, a short, thickset figure rose from the leather armchair by the fire.

  Although he had often seen photographs of the man, David had not before set eyes upon Sir Leo himself; therefore his appearance came as something of a shock to him.

  Sir Leo Thyn’s peculiarity lay in his colouring. He was a man of perhaps sixty-five or so, with a bright red face and closely cropped very white hair, which seemed to have something of a pinkish tinge since the skin beneath it was so rubicund. By contrast, his eyes were quite black and surprisingly sharp.

  He pressed a large fat hand in the inspector’s own, and when he spoke his voice was as easy and conciliatory as the Colonel’s had been nervous and irritable.

  “Good-morning, Inspector,” he said. “Bloom here has been telling me that you want to know about my little contretemps with poor young Ingleton-Gray last night. Well, there’s not much to be told, and I’m sorry it had to come out. Now the poor young fellow’s killed himself it won’t do his memory any good for it to be known that he knocked down a man old enough to be his father on the night he made up his mind to go to meet his Maker.”

  This opening, so frank and friendly, might have disarmed even a shrewder man than David had it not been for something in the very atmosphere of the man which the young inspector could not place. It was something quite intangible, something that might easily have been his own imagination, but he was conscious of it and it remained with him until the end of the interview.

  He asked the formal questions. Sir Leo seemed only too anxious to oblige him. Yes, he knew Ingleton-Gray well. Yes, he himself had spent the night at the club in his own room some doors from the dead man’s own.

  It was only when they came to the actual subject of the conversation which Sir Leo had had with the dead man before the knocking-down incident that he showed any signs of reluctance.

  “I don’t see that this is necessary, Inspector, but as you insist,” he said at last. “Young Ingleton-Gray was in serious debt. I happened to know that he owed his bookmaker a considerable sum, and there was another, more personal matter—a woman, as a matter of fact—who was claiming pretty heavy sums from him.”

  He paused, and David nodded.

  “I am afraid I must ask why exactly you took Mr. Ingleton-Gray on one side last night,” he said bluntly.

  Sir Leo shrugged. “Well, it’s very awkward,” he said, “but if you must know, I offered to lend him some money.” He hesitated. “Well, I wasn’t even going to lend it to him. I was going to give it to him. To be quite honest, Inspector, it made me sick to see the way the boy was going, and I got hold of him and talked to him like a Dutch uncle and finally finished by offering to get him out of his difficulties on condition that he took a job and became a responsible member of society.”

  David’s eyes narrowed.

  “It strikes me as being rather extraordinary that he should have said, ‘I’ve sunk pretty low, but not as low as that,’ and then should have knocked you down, after such a kindly proposition on your part,” he said slowly.

  “So it did me,” said Sir Leo. “So it did me, young man. But then you must remember the young fellow was half-crazed with drink, and perhaps I laid the lecture on too thick. You know, we old buffers, when we get going, we sometimes forget ourselves.”

  He smiled depreciatingly, and David suddenly decided that he disliked the man. However, he knew quite well that Sir Leo had only to go into a witness box and tell the same story to be believed completely.

  He expressed his thanks, therefore, and took his leave, after completing the formalities with the club servants.

  Some hours later he was standing in the superintendent’s office at the Yard.

  Old McQuirk, fatherly but superior in his dusty brown tweed suit, his appalling pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth, was laying down the law, as usual.

  “I like you, David,” he said, “but you’re crazy. Remember you’re a policeman, not a clairvoyant. Stick to facts: that’s all the law asks of you. Window stuffed up, door locked, key in the yard outside the window, impecunious young man dead inside with the gas full on—that’s suicide.

  “Take my advice,” he went on, wagging the stem of his pipe at the young man. “Don’t make trouble when there isn’t any. And make sure there is some when there is,” he went on inconsequentially.

  “All right, sir,” said David, who knew the chief well enough to be neither offended nor even hurt by the homily.

  He guessed also that the powers that be might have a personal interest in the fair reputation of the Senior Bluffs, while Sir Leo Thyn, he realized, was much too important a person to be considered suspect save on the strongest possible evidence.

  However, he felt he had done his duty. He had pointed out most carefully that a man who was so drunk that he had to be put to bed might not be able to get up again to stuff a window and turn on the gas, even had such an unpleasant impulse occurred to him.

  The chief went on speaking.

  “I don’t know what’s worrying you,” he said testily. “You’ve got a mania for work. You’ve got some leave coming, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. A fortnight. It starts tomorrow.”

  “Well, then, run along, for heaven’s sake,” said the Old Man. “Run along and enjoy yourself. Be a little human for a change. Good-bye, my boy, and good luck to you. Ingleton-Gray was a suicide. You’ll attend the inquest this afternoon and you’ll see. Suicide, temporary insanity. The poor old Bluffs won’t hold up its head again for years.”

  As Inspector Blest went out he reflected that everything the chief had said was in the nature of pro
phetic truth. He smiled to himself. Since the chief had not raised the subject and had evidently not wanted it to be raised, he had been tactful enough not to point out that because a key is found underneath a bedroom window it does not necessarily follow that it has been thrown from that window, but may quite easily have been placed there by someone who has locked the bedroom door from the outside.

  As he went down the corridor to his own room a messenger brought him a note. It was from Jimmy Thorne, the page boy at the Bluffs, who had proved so informative earlier in the day.

  David smiled as he read the note, and mentally put down another good mark against young Jimmy’s record.

  The note was by way of fulfillment of a charge he had given the boy in private before he left the club.

  DEAR MR. INSPECTOR [it ran]: The gent. you are interested in told Johnson to ring up and reserve him a suite at the Arcadian Hotel, Westbourne-on-Sea. Hope this finds you as it leaves me at present. Yours respectfully, JAMES THORNE.

  P.S. Thank you ever so much for fixing that I did not get the sack.

  David put the note in his pocket. As he turned into his room a colleague greeted him.

  “Hallo, David. Off on leave? Where are you going?”

  Inspector David Blest grinned.

  “Arcadian Hotel, Westbourne-on-Sea,” he said.

  CHAPTER II

  Courtship Extraordinary

  “WHY DON’T YOU go and ’ave a bathe, sir? Sea’s lovely.”

  The old waiter in the lounge of the Arcadian Hotel stood regarding the young man with patent concern.

  For three days David had sat alone in the corner of the lounge overlooking the glittering esplanade, and he was getting on Old Charlie’s nerves.

  He glanced up and smiled at the man’s suggestion.

  “Think I’m bored?” he inquired.

  Old Charlie had served the Arcadian in the days before the splendour of its mighty new building had made it the Mecca of those wealthy holiday makers who patronized the fashionable south coast watering place of Westbourne-on-Sea, and he was a privileged person.

  All the same, he made haste to cover any infringement of etiquette.