on id="u2ae41d30-404d-5f76-9755-e07442e9b7d8">
Ngaio Marsh
Tied Up in Tinsel
For my Godson, Nicholas Dacres-Mannings when he grows up
Contents
| Hilary Bill-Tasman | Of Halberds Manor, Landed proprietor |
| Staff at Halberds | |
| Cuthbert | Steward |
| Mervyn | Head houseman |
| Nigel | Second houseman |
| Wilfred (Kittiwee) | Cook |
| Vincent | Gardener-chauffeur |
| Tom | Odd boy |
| Guests at Halberds | |
| Troy Alleyn | Celebrated painter |
| Colonel Frederick Fleaton Forrester | Hilary’s uncle |
| Mrs Forrester | The Colonel’s wife |
| Alfred Moult | Colonel Forrester’s manservant |
| Mr Bert Smith | Authority on Antiques |
| Cressida Tottenham | Hilary’s fiancée |
| The Law | |
| Major Marchbanks | Governor at The Vale |
| Superintendent Wrayburn | Downlow Police Force |
| Superintendent Roderick | |
| Alleyn | CID |
| Detective-Inspector Fox | CID |
| Detective-Sergeant Thompson | Finger-print expert, CID |
| Detective-Sergeant Bailey | Photographer, CID |
| Sundry guests and constables |
‘When my sire,’ said Hilary Bill-Tasman, joining the tips of his fingers, ‘was flung into penury by the Great Slump, he commenced Scrap-Merchant. You don’t mind my talking?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Thank you. When I so describe his activities I do not indulge in facezia. He went into partnership in a rag-and-bone way with my Uncle Bert Smith, who was already equipped with a horse and cart and the experience of a short lifetime. “Uncle”, by the way, is a courtesy title.’
‘Yes?’
‘You will meet him tomorrow. My sire, who was newly widowed, paid for his partnership by enlarging the business and bringing into it such items of family property as he had contrived to hide from his ravenous creditors. They included a Meissen bowl of considerable monetary though, in my opinion, little aesthetic value. My Uncle Bert, lacking expertise in the higher reaches of his profession, would no doubt have knocked off this and other heirlooms to the nearest fence. My father, however, provided him with such written authority as to clear him of any suspicion of chicanery and sent him to Bond Street, where he drove a bargain that made him blink.’
‘Splendid. Could you keep your hands as they are?’
‘I think so. They prospered. By the time I was five they had two carts and two horses and a tidy account in the bank. I congratulate you, by the way, upon making no allusion to Steptoe and Son. I rather judge my new acquaintances under that heading. My father developed an unsuspected flare for trade and, taking advantage of the Depression, bought in a low market and, after a period of acute anxiety, sold in a high one. There came a day when, wearing his best suit and the tie to which he had every right, he sold the last of his family possessions at an exorbitant price to King Farouk, with whom he was tolerably acquainted. It was a Venetian chandelier of unparalleled vulgarity.’
‘Fancy.’