Death at the Bar
A classic Ngaio Marsh novel in which a game of darts in an English pub has gruesome consequences.At the Plume of Feathers in south Devon one midsummer evening, eight people are gathered together in the tap-room. They are in the habit of playing darts, but on this occasion an experiment takes the place of the usual game – a fatal experiment which calls for investigation.A distinguished painter, a celebrated actor, a woman graduate, a plump lady from County Clare, and a Devonshire farmer all play their parts in the unravelling of the problem…
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NGAIO MARSH
Death at the Bar
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persosn, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009
Death at the Bar first published in Great Britain by Geoffrey Bles 1940
Ngaio Marsh asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of these works
Copyright © Ngaio Marsh Ltd 1940
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Source ISBN: 9780006512356
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780007344475 Version: 2016-09-08
For My Friends in the Dunedin Repertory Society
CONTENTS
12 Curious Behaviour of Mr Legge
18 Mr Legge Commits a Misdemeanour
| Luke Watchman, KC | |
| Sebastian Parish | His cousin |
| Norman Cubitt, RA | |
| Abel Pomeroy | Proprietor, Plume of Feathers, Devon |
| Will Pomeroy | His son |
| Mrs Ives | Housekeeper at the Plume of Feathers |
| The Hon Violet Darragh | Of County Clare, Ireland |
| Robert Legge | Secretary and Treasurer to the CoombeLeft Movement |
| George Nark | Farmer, of Ottercombe |
| Decima Moore | Of Cary Edge Farm and of Oxford |
| Dr Shaw | Police Surgeon, Illington |
| Nicholas Harper | Superintendent of Police, Illington |
| Richard Oates, PC | Of the Illington and Ottercombe Constabulary |
| Dr Mordant | Coroner for Illington |
| Roderick Alleyn | Chief Detective-Inspector, Criminal Investigation Department |
| T. R. Fox | Inspector, Criminal Investigation Department |
| Colonel, The Honourable Maxwell Brammington | Chief Constable |
As Luke Watchman drove across Otterbrook Bridge the setting sun shone full in his eyes. A molten flood of sunlight poured towards him through the channel of the lane and broke into sequins across Otterbrook waters. He arched his hand over his eyes and peered through the spattered dazzle of the windscreen. Somewhere about here was the turning for Ottercombe. He lowered the window and leant out.
The warmth of evening touched his face. The air smelt of briar, of fern, and more astringently of the distant sea. There, fifty yards ahead, was the finger-post with its letters almost rubbed out by rain, âOttercombe, 7 miles.â
Watchman experienced the fufillment of a nostalgic longing and was content. Only now, when he was within reach of his journeyâs end, did he realize how greatly he had desired this return. The car moved forward and turned from the wide lane into the narrow. The curves of hills marched down behind hedgerows. There was no more sunlight. Thorns brushed the windows on each side, so narrow was the lane. The car bumped over pot-holes. The scent of spring-watered earth rose coldly from the banks.
âDownhill all the way now,â Watchman murmured. His thoughts travelled ahead to Ottercombe. One should always time arrivals for this hour when labourers turned homewards, when lamps were lit, when the traveller had secret glimpses into rooms whose thresholds he would never cross. At the Plume of Feathers, Abel Pomeroy would stand out in the roadway and look for incoming guests. Watchman wondered if his two companions had got there before him. Perhaps his cousin, Sebastian Parish, had set out on his evening prowl round the village. Perhaps Norman Cubitt had already found a subject and was down on the jetty dabbing nervously at a canvas. This was the second holiday they had spent together in Ottercombe. A curious trio when you came to think of it. Like the beginning of a funny story. âA lawyer, an actor, and a painter once went to a fishing village in Devon.â Well, heâd rather have Cubitt and Parish than any of his own learned brethren. The law set too dead a seal on character, the very soul of a barrister took silk. And he wondered if he had failed to escape the mannerisms of his profession, if he exuded learned counsel, even at Ottercombe in South Devon.
