Free Clutch of Constables by Ngaio Marsh Page B

then smartly shut. Mr Lazenby. Finally Mr Pollock unmistakably erupted into the mélée.
    “Does everybody mind!” Mr Pollock asked in a fury. “Do me a favour, ladies and gents. I got the funny habit of liking to sleep at night!” A pause, sumptuously filled by Miss Rickerby-Carrick. “Gawd!” Mr Pollock said. “Has it been offered to the Zoo?”
    Troy suddenly thumped the wall. Miss Rickerby-Carrick trumpeted, said “Wh-a-a?” and fell silent. After perhaps thirty wary, listening seconds her fellow-passengers returned to their beds and as she remained tacit, all, presumably, went to sleep.
    Troy again slept deeply for what seemed to her to be a very long time and was sickeningly roused by Miss Rickerby-Carrick herself, standing like the first Mrs Rochester beside her bed and looking, Troy felt, not dissimilar. Her cold was heavy on her.
    “
Dear
Mrs Alleyn,” Miss Rickerby-Carrick whispered. “Do, do, do forgive me. I’m so dreadfully sorry but I simply can not get off! Hour after hour and
wide
awake. I—I had a shock. In Tollardwark. I can’t tell you—at least—I—might. Tomorrow. But I can’t sleep and I can’t find my pills. I can—not—lay my hands upon my pills. Have you by any chance an aspirin? I feel so dreadful, waking you, but I get quite frantic when I can’t sleep—I—I’ve had a shock. I’ve had an awful shock.”
    Troy said: “It’s all right. Yes. I’ve got some aspirin. Would you turn on the light?”
    When she had done this, Miss Rickerby-Carrick came back to the bed and leant over Troy. She wore a dull magenta dressing-gown; dark blue pyjamas. Something depended from her not very delicious neck. It swung forward and hit Troy on the nose.
    “
Oh
, I’m so sorry. I
am
so sorry.”
    “It’s all right. If you’ll just let me up, I’ll find the aspirins.” While Troy did this Miss Rickerby-Carrick whispered indefatigably. “You’ll wonder what it is. That thing. I’ll tell you. It’s a romantic story, no denying it. Never leaves me. You’ll be surprised,” the strange whisper gustily confided. “No kidding. An heirloom. Honestly. My grandfather — surgeon — Czar — Fabergé. I promise you!” Troy had found the aspirin.
    “Here they are. I really think you shouldn’t tell people about it, you know.”
    “Oh — but
you
!”
    “I wouldn’t — really. Why don’t you put it in safe-keeping?”
    “You’re talking like the insurance people.”
    “I can well believe it.”
    “It’s my
Luck
,” said Miss Rickerby-Carrick. “That’s how I feel about it. I can’t be without my Luck. I did try once, and immediately fell down a flight of concrete steps. There, now!”
    “Well, I wouldn’t talk about it if I were you.”
    “That’s what Miss Hewson said. ”
    “For Heaven’s sake!” Troy exclaimed and gave up.
    “Well, she’s awfully interested in antiques.”
    “Have you shown it to her?”
    She nodded coyly, wagging her ungainly head up and down and biting her lower lip. “You’ll never guess,” she said, “what it
is
. The design I mean. Talk about coincidence!” She put her face close to Troy’s and whispered. “In diamonds and emeralds and rubies. The Signs of the
Zodiac
. Now!”
    “Hadn’t you better go to bed?” Troy asked wearily.
    Miss Rickerby-Carrick stared fixedly at her and then bolted.
    When Mrs Tretheway at eight o’clock brought her a cup of tea, Troy felt as if the incidents of the night had been part of her dreams. At breakfast Mr Pollock and the Hewsons had a muttering session about Miss Rickerby-Carrick. Caley Bard openly asked Troy if she was keen on “Eine Kleine Nacht Musik” and Mr Lazenby told him not to be naughty. As usual Dr Natouche took no part in this general, if furtive, conversation. Miss Rickerby-Carrick herself retired at mid-morning to a corner of the deck where, snuffling dreadfully and looking greatly perturbed, she kept up her diary.
    The
Zodiac
cruised tranquilly through the morning. After