Vintage Murder (22 page)

“It’s always a handy little thing to have beside you.”

“I suppose so — still there’s an absence of motive in my case.”

“Ah, yes,” murmured Alleyn, “we must have motive, of course.”

He picked up the tiki, returned it to his pocket, and looked at his watch.

“Good Lord, it’s eleven o’clock and I haven’t so much as rung up for a car.”

“There’s no need. I shall drive you back and spend the night at my rooms. I often do that — it’s all arranged. You must have a drink before you go.”

“No, really not, thanks. I promised Wade I’d ring him up before eleven-thirty, so if you don’t mind—”

“You can telephone from here.”

“It may be rather a lengthy conversation, so perhaps I’d better leave it until I get to Middleton.”

“Come along, then,” rejoined Te Pokiha courteously. “I mustn’t try to keep you, I suppose.”

“It’s been a delightful evening.”

“I hope it is not to be the last.”

They drove back in the starlight. To Alleyn it seemed strange that it was only that morning — a short eighteen hours ago — that he had stood in the deserted street to watch dawn break over the mountains. It seemed to be ages ago. So much had happened. Carolyn by the little stream, talking about her husband, the bush bird whistling “She was only a bird—” with a wrinkled human face, Gordon Palmer drinking whisky that poured itself out of the neck of a gargantuan champagne bottle. “Don’t do that, it shouldn’t be interfered with.” “But my old dad taught me. It used to go big in vordevil.” And there was Wade running up and down a ladder like a performing monkey and saying: “Eight minutes for refreshments at the central police station.” “Don’t do that, you’ll muddle the prints.” “It’s all right if you sound your horn at the top. This horn is called a beep-beep. Listen — beep-beep—”

“This horn is called a ‘beep-beep’,” said Te Pokiha. “It reminds me of the Paris streets.”

“Lord love us, I’ve been asleep,” said Alleyn.

“If you will allow me to say so, I think you’re overtaxing your strength a little. You look tired. Aren’t you supposed to be on a holiday?”

“I’ll be able to sink back into sloth to-morrow.”

“As soon as that?”

“I hope so. Here we are at the hotel, I see. Well, thank you so much, Te Pokiha. It’s been an extremely interesting evening.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been of little use as far as your case is concerned.”

“On the contrary,” said Alleyn, “you have given me a piece of exceedingly valuable information.”

“Really? I mustn’t ask questions, I suppose. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Alleyn slept heavily and dreamlessly until half-past nine. He had arranged to meet Wade at ten, and the inspector was waiting for him when he came out of the breakfast-room. They walked down to the theatre together.

“I’ve fixed it with old Singleton, Mr. Alleyn. He’ll be there waiting for us. He’s a funny old chap. Dismal Joe, the stage-hands call him; quite an old character in his way, he is, with a great gift of the gab. He says he’s an old actor and I believe it’s a fact, too.”

“Another actor! I remember giving him my name. He seemed rather a rum old article.”

“It’s a theatre show this, isn’t it, sir?”

They walked on in silence, and then Wade said:

“Well, Mr. Alleyn, I hope you’re quite satisfied with the work we’ve done for you.”

“My dear chap, more than satisfied. I’ve never had such a case. All the routine work done by you fellows, and damn’ well done. All I had to do was to pick out the plums.”

“Well sir, as far as we’re concerned it’s been a pleasure. We very much appreciate the way you’ve worked with us, Mr. Alleyn, taking us into your confidence all along. I must say when you rang up last night I got a bit of a surprise. I don’t say we wouldn’t have thrashed it out for ourselves and come to the right conclusion, but we wouldn’t have come there so quick.”

“I’m sure you’d have got there,” said Alleyn cordially. “You fixed up the other business all right, I suppose?”

“Yes. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble. Packer and Cass are there.”

Packer and Cass met them in the theatre yard. Standing just behind them was the doorkeeper to whom Alleyn remembered giving his name on the night of the party. Old Singleton was an extraordinary figure. He was very tall, very bent, and remarkably dirty. His nose was enormous and gloomily purple, he suffered from asthma, and he smelt of whisky.

“Morning, Packer, morning, Cass,” said Alleyn.

“This is Mr. Singleton, Chief Inspector,” said Wade.

“Chief Inspector who, Mr. Wade?” asked Singleton earnestly, in a rumbling wheeze.

“Alleyn.”

“Of New Scotland Yard, London?”

“Yes, Mr. Singleton,” said Alleyn good-humouredly.

“Shake, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Singleton, extending a particularly filthy hand. Alleyn shook it.

“From the Dear Old Town!” continued Mr. Singleton emotionally. “The Dear Old Town!”

“You are a Londoner, Mr. Singleton?”

“Holborn Empire! Ten years. I was first fiddle, sir.” Mr. Singleton went through an elaborate pantomime of drawing a bow across the strings of an imaginary violin. “You wouldn’t think it to look at me now,” he added truthfully. “I have fallen into the sere and yellow, Chief Inspector. I am declined into the vale of years. I am a fixed figure for the time of scorn to point his slow unmoving finger at. Yurrahumph!” He coughed unpleasantly and spat. “You would not credit it, Superintendent Alleyn, if I were to tell you I played the Moor for six months to capacity business.”

As Alleyn really could not credit it, he contented himself with making a consolatory noise.

“Shakespeare!” ejaculated Mr. Singleton, removing his hat. “The Swan of Stratford-on-Sea! The Bard!”

“Nobody like him, is there?” said Alleyn cheerfully. “Well, Mr. Singleton, you’re about to take the stage again. I want you to tell us all about last night.”

“Last night of all when that same star did entertain her guests. An improvisation, Chief Constable, based on the Bard. Last night. I could a tale unfold would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood. As a matter of fact I am unable to do any such thing. Last night I merely discharged my degrading duties as a doorkeeper in the house of the ungodly, and repaired to my lonely attic.”

He paused and blew his nose on an unspeakable handkerchief. Wade slipped behind him and gave a spirited imitation of someone draining a glass to the dregs.

“You kept a list of the guests, I understand, and checked off the names as they came in.”

Mr. Singleton drew a piece of paper from his bosom and handed it to Alleyn with a slight bow.

“To witness if I lie,“ he explained grandly.

It was the list. Alleyn glanced at it and returned to the job.

“Did Mr. Ackroyd come out some time before the party?”

“Ackroyd, Ackroyd, Ackroyd. Let me see, let me see, let me see. Ackroyd. The comedian. Yes! Ackroyd came out.”

“You did not mention this to Mr. Wade.”

“I take my stand on that document!” said Mr. Singleton magnificently.

“Quite so. How long was Mr. Ackroyd away?”

“He returned in the twinkling of an eye.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I am constant as the northern star,” said Mr. Singleton, stifling a slight hiccough. “Ackroyd eggzited and re-entered immediately. He went to the door of the office. He appeared to address those within. He returned.”

“You watched him?”

“With the very comment of my soul. Would it astonish you to learn that I played the Dane before—”

“Did you really? Mr. George Mason came out of the office some time before that, I believe?”

“George Mason, George! The manager. He did. I have already made a statement to this effect I believe, Mr. Wade?”

“That’s right, Joe, but Mr. Alleyn just wants to check up.”

Mr. Singleton inclined his head.

“Quite so. The manager, George Mason, came to the stage-door and repeated, gratuitously and unnesh — unessessraly, my instructions. I was to be sure to ask of each guest his local habitation and his name.”

“Mr. Mason returned to the office?”

“I swear it.”

“You may have to,” said Alleyn. “How long was Mr. Mason away from the office?”

“Let me see. Let me see. While one with moderate haste might tell an hundred. I showed him my list. I convinced him of my incorruptible purpose. I called to mind, I recollect, the coincidence that I had played the part of the porter in
Macbeth
, and of the sentry, Bernardo, in the Dane — that was in my green and salad days, Commissioner. I had scarce embarked on this trifling reminiscence when Mason turned up the collar of his dinner-jacket and observing that the air was chilly, turned and ran back to the office.”

Alleyn uttered a slight exclamation, glanced at Wade, and asked Singleton to repeat this statement, which he did at great length but to the same effect.

“Do you remember, now,” said Alleyn, “if the office door was open on to the yard as it is now?”

“It was open.”

“Ah yes. You know Dr. Te Pokiha by sight?”

“The native? Dark-visaged, like the Moor? The Moor was perhaps my greatest role. My favourite role. ‘Most potent grave—’

“Wonderful play, that,” interrupted Alleyn. “Dr. Te Pokiha was among the last guests to arrive, I think?”

“True.”

“Did you notice him coming?”

“I marked him come, yes. He too emerged from the office, carrying his mantle. He darted back and reappeared. He approached me and I admitted him, striking out his name as I did so.”

“Now, Mr. Singleton, I take it from what you have told me that you would be prepared to make a sworn statement that once Mr. Ackroyd, or Mr. Mason, or Dr. Te Pokiha had gone in at the stage-door they did not return to the office, and once they had gone to the office, did not return to the stage without your knowledge?”

“I have sworn it, indeed. In common parlance, sir, you can bet your boots and put your shirt on it”

“Well now, Mr. Singleton, I’m going to ask you to help me in a little experiment. Will you do this?”

“Impart! Proceed!”

“I want you to stand here by the stage-door and treat me as though I was Mr. Ackroyd, Dr. Te Pokiha, or Mr. Mason. As soon as I have gone, I want you to wait for five minutes and then walk along to the office. Will you do this?”

“Certainly.”

“Watch the office door,” said Alleyn, “and Mr. Wade will keep the time.” He glanced at Packer and Cass who had listened to the entire conversation with the liveliest interest. “You look steadily down the alley, you two. Are you keen on conjuring tricks?”

“I remember—” began Mr. Singleton; but Alleyn interrupted him.

“Will any gentleman in the audience provide me with a handkerchief? Sergeant Packer? Thank you. You are perfectly certain this is your handkerchief? You see me place it in the right-hand pocket of my jacket? I thank you. Now, Mr. Singleton, I am one of those three gentlemen aforesaid. You see me here in the yard. You are standing by the stage-door. I walk along the yard into the office. Got your watch out, Wade? Off we go.”

Singleton and the three officers stood in a group at the stage-door. Alleyn walked briskly down the yard and into the office, leaving the door open.

“What’s the idea, Mr. Wade?” asked Cass. “He’s a bit of a hard case, isn’t he?”

“He’ll do me,” said Packer. “He’s a corker.”

“Watch that door into the office,” snapped Wade. “And the yard.”

The door remained open on the yard. Nobody spoke. The sound of traffic in the street, and footsteps on the pavement outside, broke the silence. One or two people walked past at the end of the yard.

“He hasn’t come out, anyway,” said Cass.

“Time,” said Wade. “Come on, Singleton. Come on, you two.”

They all walked down the yard and into the office. Alleyn was sitting at the desk.

“Well!” said Alleyn brightly. “Still here, you see.”

“I thought, Superintendent,” said Mr. Singleton, “that you said we were to receive a surprise.”

“And you are disappointed?” He looked from one dubious face to the other. Wade was staring expectantly at him.

“I expect you’d like to know where the laugh and round of applause comes in,” said Alleyn. “If Sergeant Packer will look at the bottom rung of the back-stage ladder into the grid he will learn something to his advantage.”

“Go on, Packer,” said Wade.

Packer hurried off through the stage-door. There was a short pause and then he came thundering back.

“By cripey, Mr. Wade, it’s a corker! By gosh, Mr. Wade, it’s a humdinger!”

He was waving the handkerchief. Cass’s eyes opened very wide. Mr. Singleton moistened his lips once or twice but, for a marvel, he had nothing to say.

“Tied to the bottom rung it was,” declared Packer. “Tied to the bottom rung. By gum, it’s a beaut!”

“You see it can be done, Wade,” said Alleyn.

“It’s good enough,” said Wade delightedly, “it’s good enough.”

“Ah — um — very neat,” said Mr. Singleton. He drew the palm of his hand across his mouth. “I recollect seeing the Great Houdini—”

“Mr. Singleton,” said Alleyn, I’m afraid I’ve taken up far too much of your time. We mustn’t keep you any longer. Will you allow me to quote your favourite author? — ‘Spend this for me.’ ”

Mr. Singleton broke into a loud laugh as his fingers closed on the tip.

“Ah ha, sir, I can have at you again. ‘I’ll be your purse-bearer and leave you for an hour’.” He removed his hat, bowed, said “Good morning, gentlemen,” and hurried away.

“What a fabulous bit of wreckage,” said Alleyn. “Poor old devil, I wonder if he— Oh, well! I suppose you’d like an explanation of all this.” He turned to Cass and Packer.

“Too right, sir,“ said Packer. ”You’ve got us beat.”

“What I did was this. I came into this office, as you saw. I came out again as you apparently didn’t see, and I went round to the back by what I feel should be called Cass’s Alley.”

“But look here, sir, we were watching the yard.”

“I know. I left the door open and I sidled along to the street end keeping against the wall. I was hidden so far by the open door. If you go along to the stage-door you will see what I mean. I was just able to keep out of sight.”

“But the entrance, at the end! You had to cross there, and I swear I never took my eyes off it,” burst out Cass.

“You saw me walk across, Cass.”

“I never! Pardon me, sir.”

“You didn’t recognise your own overcoat and hat? You left them in here.”

Alleyn pointed to where they lay across the desk. “I ventured to borrow them. As soon as I got in here I slipped them on, and, as I have said, sidled out under cover of the door, turned off to the right when I got out to the pavement, and then walked briskly back across the open end of the yard. You did not recognise me. Now, as soon as I got across the entrance to the yard I was hidden by the projecting bicycle shed. I repeated the sidling game on the other side and came back to Cass’s Alley. Once in there, I bolted round to the back door, having borrowed the key. All this took less than two minutes. Another half-minute going up the ladder. I allowed a minute to unhook the weight and came down in less than half. I put the key back in the door and returned by Cass’s Alley, reversing the process. I just had time to get your hat and coat off, before you came along. D’you see?”

“I don’t know that I do, sir, altogether,” confessed Cass, “but you
did
it, I reckon it’s right.”

“Come and look at the plan here, and you’ll see how it fits in.”

Wade, Packer and Cass all stared solemnly at the plan.

“It’s a funny thing,” said Wade, “how easy it is to miss the obvious thing. That alleyway now. You’d have thought we’d have picked it for something straight away.”

“You’d have thought I would,” grunted Cass, “seeing I’m still sore from where I stuck.”

“It widens out as soon as you’re round the corner,” said Alleyn.

“It’d need to,” said Cass.

Wade looked at his watch.

“It’s time,” he said to Alleyn.

“Ah, yes,” said Alleyn.

They all stood listening. From the street outside came the irregular sound of mid-morning traffic, the whining clamour of trams, the roar of cars in low gear, punctured by intermittent horn notes, and behind it all the patter of feet on asphalt One pair of feet seemed to separate and come closer.

Someone had turned into the yard.