“On the other hand,” Alleyn said, “she may have been merely snooping for the love of the sport, like your friend Cora.”
“That’s so. You know, sir, I sometimes wonder how people would react if they heard everything their servants said about them.”
“I should think the Lampreys would laugh till they were sick,” said Alleyn. “I remember one afternoon, when my brother George and I were conceited youths, we took a couple of deck chairs and our books to a spot which happened to be under the window of the servants’ hall. The window was open and we heard a series of very spirited imitations of ourselves and our parents. The boot-boy was particularly gifted. George was conducting a not very reputable affair of the heart of which I knew nothing. But the boot-boy had it all pat.” Alleyn broke into one of his rare laughs. “It was damn good for us,” he said.
“Would you say they were usually correct, though? If this old nurse lets on that Miss Tinkerton and the chap Giggle are carrying on a bit, or that Miss T. is in some sort of cahoots with her mistress, or that Miss T.’s got her knife into the Lampreys, is she more likely to be lying or talking turkey?”
“If she’s got her knife into Miss T.,” said Alleyn, “it’s a fifty-fifty chance. I should say Nanny Burnaby was a bit of a tartar. Inclined to be illogically jealous and touchy but a very faithful old dragon with the family. I bet you didn’t get her to say anything about them.”
“Lor’ no. They were a bunch of cherubs.”
“Yes, I daresay. I wonder if it’d be a good idea to see Giggle again. If he’s Tinkerton’s boy friend (and it’s a grim thought) he may possibly throw a new ray of light on that unlovely figure. We’ll see him, Fox. Ring up the Brummell Street house and get him to come here. And I tell you what, Foxkin,” said Alleyn gloomily, “it looks very much as if we’ll have to go into that Kent visit. It’ll be one of those little jaunts that sound such fun in the detective books and are such a crashing bore in reality. Do you read detective novels, Br’er Fox?”
“No,” said Fox. And perhaps with some idea of softening this shortest of all rejoinders he added: “It’s not for the want of trying. Seeing the average person’s knowledge of the department is based on these tales I thought I’d have a go at them. I don’t say they’re not very smart. Something happening on every page to make you think different from what you thought the one before, and the routine got over in the gaps between the chapters. In two of the ones I tried, the investigating officers let the case run for a couple more murders and listened in to the fourth attempt in order to hear the murderer tell the victim how the first three were done. Then they walked in and copped him just before the cosh. Well, you don’t do that sort of thing in the department. There’d be questions asked. I don’t say it’s not clever but it’s fanciful.”
“A little, perhaps.”
“The truth is,” said Fox gravely, “homicidal cases are not what people would like them to be. How often do we get a murder with a row of suspects, each with motive and opportunity?”