Vintage Murder Read Free Page A

the narrow corridor off which the two sleepers opened. They passed the first door and Meyer led them in at the second. The “de-luxe” sleeper was a small cabin with two narrow bunks and a wash-basin. Carolyn Dacres, wearing some sort of gorgeous dressing-robe, sat on the bottom bunk. Her arms were clasped round her knees. Her long reddish-brown hair hung in a thick twist over her shoulder.
    “Hullo!” she said, looking at the tall man. “Hailey says he thinks you’d better hear all about it.”
    “I’m sure you’d rather talk over whatever has happened among yourselves. I assure you I’ve no desire to butt in.”
    “Look here,” said Hambledon, “
do
let me explain — about you, I mean.”
    “Very well,” said the tall man, looking politely resigned.
    “We all knew him as ‘Mr. R. Allen’ on board,” began Hambledon. “That’s what he was in the passenger list. It was only to-night, in the train, that I realised he was Roderick Alleyn — E.Y.N. — Chief Detective-Inspector, C.I.D., and full musical honours with a salute of two sawn-off shotguns.”
    “My God!” said Mr. Meyer plaintively. It was his stock expression.
    “Why—” said Carolyn Dacres, “why then you’re — yes, of course. ‘The Handsome Inspector.’ Don’t you remember, Pooh? The Gardener case? Our photographs were side by side in the
Tatler
that week, Mr. Alleyn.”
    “The only occasion,” said Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, “on which I have felt there was any compensation for newspaper publicity.”
    “Any
compensation
?” broke in Mr. Meyer. “My God! Well now, as you are an expert, will you listen to this? Sit down for God’s sake. Move up, Carol.”
    Alleyn sat on a trunk, Hambledon on the floor, and Meyer plumped down beside his wife. His large face was very white and his fat hands shook slightly.
    “I’m all upset,” he said.
    “I’ll try to explain,” said Miss Dacres. “You see Hailey darling — and Mr. Alleyn — Alfie-Pooh sat up late. He had a lot of correspondence to get through, and he brought his typewriter in here. Some time before we got to the last station he thought he would go out to that shocking little platform for a breath of fresh air. Didn’t you, darling?”
    Mr. Meyer nodded gloomily.
    “We were at that time travelling up or down a thing that I think they call the corkscrew. The guard, who is an exceedingly nice man, and so, so well informed, told us all about it. It appears that this corkscrew—”
    “Spiral,” corrected Mr. Meyer.
    “Yes, darling. This spiral is quite remarkable as railway lines go. One is continually catching one’s own tail and the guard’s wagon is quite often in front of the engine.”
    “Really, Carolyn!” expostulated Hambledon.
    “Something of the sort, darling. However, that is of no real importance as far as this story goes. The only thing we must all remember is that when it is corkscrewing the train keeps on turning round and round.”
    “What can you mean?”
    “Cut out the comedy, Carolyn,” begged Mr. Meyer. “This is serious.”
    “Darling,
of course
it is. You see, Mr. Alleyn, Alfie went out on the little platform and stood there and all the time the train kept turning corners very fast and it was all rather impressive. Alfie was very excited and thrilled with the view, although it was so dark he could not see much, except the other parts of the train corkscrewing above and below him. He heard a door bang, but he did not look round because he thought it was just someone going along the train. He was holding on very tight with both hands. Luckily. Because otherwise when this person pushed him he would have—”
    “Here!” said Mr. Meyer firmly, “I’ll tell them. I was on the platform facing outwards. I noticed the iron door to the steps was opened back and there was nothing between me and God knows all. It was blowing a gale. I kind of knew people were going past me on their way through the train, but I didn’t look round. We