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Authors: Magdalen Nabb
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need.' He was fishing for his dark glasses in one pocket after another. 'I'm going out.'
Perhaps it was just to avoid the chambermaid's confusing and irritating him right from the start that he decided to talk first with the manager, who was hovering anxiously in the reception area when he walked into the Riverside Hotel.
'Please come this way.'
'I'd rather talk here, if it's all the same to you.' The Marshal had an undefined feeling that the reception hall was the key to this whole business if he could only work out how.
It was obvious that it wasn't all the same to the manager who would have much preferred to keep the uniformed intruder out of sight of his guests, but he could hardly say so. The Marshal walked round and lifted the wooden flap to go behind the desk. There he sat himself down heavily on the receptionist's stool and stared about him in silence. Someone had almost certainly managed to leave this hotel with a body dressed in nothing but a fur coat. From where he was sitting he could see straight into the breakfast lounge which wasn't partitioned off. A little to the left was the lift, which had a glass panel in the door, and next to that the service lift and the wide, blue-carpeted staircase. To his right were the revolving doors of the only exit. A group of four middle-aged tourists got out of the lift and went out, laden with guidebooks and cameras.
'Where's the receptionist?' he asked after a moment.
'In my office waiting for you with the chambermaid and the cleaner. I've been keeping an eye on things here. I presumed you'd want to speak to them.'
'Yes.' But he didn't move. His big eyes went on moving slowly over everything in his view. The idea of anyone trying to go through the revolving doors with that cumbersome burden and at the risk of bumping into someone immediately outside was absurd. The lift, then. Straight down to the garage to a waiting car? But he could see into both lifts quite easily and the noise of one of them going down would be heard clearly in the early hours of the morning when the hotel was silent. Mario Querci, the night porter, insisted that he had seen and heard nothing though he had been sitting right here.
'Where does he go,' said the Marshal, almost to himself, 'to relieve himself?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'The night porter. He can't sit here all night without going to relieve himself. Where does he go?'
'I see. Behind you, in the same corridor as my room and the accounts office. There's a staff toilet between the two.'
'Hmph.' Even so, nobody waiting upstairs for the chance to get out with the body could have had any way of knowing .. .
After waiting with obvious impatience for a few more moments the manager said tersely, 'I don't quite see what that has to do with—'
'What?' The Marshal interrupted him, coming to himself quite suddenly.
'I was going to say that your question doesn't seem to have much to do with what's just happened.'
At least they might send somebody a bit brighter to deal with things!
'No . . .' the Marshal admitted slowly, 'probably not. . .'
For the first time he looked carefully at the manager who had remained on the other side of the desk and was looking decidedly agitated. He was a big, imposing man with iron grey hair and piercing eyes.
'You're from the north. . .?' It was more of an observation than a question.
'From Milan.'
'That's right. . . Captain Maestrangelo mentioned it. . . And the owner of this place—'
'Is also Milanese. He has another hotel up there. Would you like to come through to my office or are you intending to question my staff here? I must point out that in consideration for my guests—'
'That's all right,' said the Marshal equably. 'That's all right. I'll talk to them in your office if that's what you prefer. By the way, what happened to the dog?'
'The dog? Ah, Signora Vogel's dog. We had it put down.'
The animated conversation that was in full swing when the manager opened his office door ceased abruptly at
Perhaps it was just to avoid the chambermaid's confusing and irritating him right from the start that he decided to talk first with the manager, who was hovering anxiously in the reception area when he walked into the Riverside Hotel.
'Please come this way.'
'I'd rather talk here, if it's all the same to you.' The Marshal had an undefined feeling that the reception hall was the key to this whole business if he could only work out how.
It was obvious that it wasn't all the same to the manager who would have much preferred to keep the uniformed intruder out of sight of his guests, but he could hardly say so. The Marshal walked round and lifted the wooden flap to go behind the desk. There he sat himself down heavily on the receptionist's stool and stared about him in silence. Someone had almost certainly managed to leave this hotel with a body dressed in nothing but a fur coat. From where he was sitting he could see straight into the breakfast lounge which wasn't partitioned off. A little to the left was the lift, which had a glass panel in the door, and next to that the service lift and the wide, blue-carpeted staircase. To his right were the revolving doors of the only exit. A group of four middle-aged tourists got out of the lift and went out, laden with guidebooks and cameras.
'Where's the receptionist?' he asked after a moment.
'In my office waiting for you with the chambermaid and the cleaner. I've been keeping an eye on things here. I presumed you'd want to speak to them.'
'Yes.' But he didn't move. His big eyes went on moving slowly over everything in his view. The idea of anyone trying to go through the revolving doors with that cumbersome burden and at the risk of bumping into someone immediately outside was absurd. The lift, then. Straight down to the garage to a waiting car? But he could see into both lifts quite easily and the noise of one of them going down would be heard clearly in the early hours of the morning when the hotel was silent. Mario Querci, the night porter, insisted that he had seen and heard nothing though he had been sitting right here.
'Where does he go,' said the Marshal, almost to himself, 'to relieve himself?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'The night porter. He can't sit here all night without going to relieve himself. Where does he go?'
'I see. Behind you, in the same corridor as my room and the accounts office. There's a staff toilet between the two.'
'Hmph.' Even so, nobody waiting upstairs for the chance to get out with the body could have had any way of knowing .. .
After waiting with obvious impatience for a few more moments the manager said tersely, 'I don't quite see what that has to do with—'
'What?' The Marshal interrupted him, coming to himself quite suddenly.
'I was going to say that your question doesn't seem to have much to do with what's just happened.'
At least they might send somebody a bit brighter to deal with things!
'No . . .' the Marshal admitted slowly, 'probably not. . .'
For the first time he looked carefully at the manager who had remained on the other side of the desk and was looking decidedly agitated. He was a big, imposing man with iron grey hair and piercing eyes.
'You're from the north. . .?' It was more of an observation than a question.
'From Milan.'
'That's right. . . Captain Maestrangelo mentioned it. . . And the owner of this place—'
'Is also Milanese. He has another hotel up there. Would you like to come through to my office or are you intending to question my staff here? I must point out that in consideration for my guests—'
'That's all right,' said the Marshal equably. 'That's all right. I'll talk to them in your office if that's what you prefer. By the way, what happened to the dog?'
'The dog? Ah, Signora Vogel's dog. We had it put down.'
The animated conversation that was in full swing when the manager opened his office door ceased abruptly at
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