Ngaio Marsh - Vintage Murder

“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.

But it was only Mr. St. John Ackroyd. Cass, who had moved into the yard, stopped him. The others could see him through the half open door. Beside the gigantic Cass, Ackroyd looked a pygmy of a man. He stood there in his rather loud check overcoat and jaunty hat, staring cockily up at Cass.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Cass, “but were you wanting to go into the theatre?”

“Yes, I was. I want to get to my wardrobe. Haven’t a clean shirt to my back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you in this morning, sir.”

“Oh, God! Why the devil not? Look here, you can come in with me and see I don’t muck up the half-chewed cigar at the point marked X. Come on now, old boy, be a sport.”

“Very sorry, sir. I’m under orders and it can’t be done.”

“Yes, but look, old boy. Here—”

Mr. Ackroyd appeared to make an attempt to place his tiny hand confidingly in Cass’s. Cass stepped back a pace.

“No, so, sir. We don’t do things that way. Quite out of the question, thank you all the same.”

“Oh, blast! Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Buy new shirts?”

“If you’ll wait a little, sir, I’ll inquire—”

“Here, Cass!” called Wade.

“Sir?”

“Just a minute. Come in, Mr. Ackroyd, come in.”

The comic face was thrust round the door and distorted into a diverting grimace.

“Hullo, hullo! All the stars in one piece, including the Great Noise from the Yard. Any room for a little one?”

He came in, followed by Cass, and perched on the edge of Alfred Meyer’s desk, cocking his hat jauntily Over his left eye.

“Well. How’s things?” he inquired.

“I’m glad you looked in, Mr. Ackroyd,” said Wade. “There’s just one little matter I wanted to see you about.”

“Is there, by gum! Well, there’s another little matter I’d like to see you about. I want to get at my wardrobe.”

“In the statement you gave us on the night of the fatality,” continued Wade in a monotonous chant, “you said that you went from the dressing-rooms to the party.”

“That’s right.”

“Remaining on the stage until after the fatality?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?” demanded Ackroyd.

“You didn’t come out into the yard, at all?”

“Eh? — I — how d’you mean?”

“Just that, Mr. Ackroyd. You didn’t leave the stage before the party and walk along to the office?”

“Oh, God! Look here, old boy, I–I believe I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was only for a minute. Just to tell George people were beginning to come in.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before, Mr. Ackroyd?”

“Damn it all, I’d forgotten all about it.”

“But now you state definitely that you did come here?”

“Yes,” said Ackroyd uncomfortably.

“We’ll have to get a new statement to that effect.” said Wade. “Will you tell us exactly what happened, Mr. Ackroyd?”

“Just what I said. I came along and stood in the doorway there. I said: ‘The party’s started, George,’ and George said: ‘Right you are. I’ve got a job here and then I’ll be along,’ or something. The job he had seemed to be a perfectly good drink. Well, I passed a remark or two and went back to the party.”

“Was Mr. Mason alone?”

“What? No, I rather fancy the black quack was there.”

“Pardon?” asked Wade, genteelly. “Who did you say?”

“The black quack.”

“Can Mr. Ackroyd possibly mean Dr. Te Pokiha?” asked Alleyn of nobody in particular.

“You’d hardly think so, would you?” said Wade.

“Oh, no offense,” said Ackroyd. “I forgot there was no colour bar in this country. The light-brown medico was on-stage. That better?”

“You want to be very very careful when you make statements, Mr. Ackroyd,” said Wade austerely. “We’ll have to get you to sign a new one. Seems funny, you forgetting you came along here.”

“Why the hell!” shouted Ackroyd hotly. “What’s funny about it? Why should I remember? Don’t be silly.”

“Did you go straight back to the stage?”

“Yes, I did go straight back, I — hullo George!”

George Mason’s unhappy face had appeared round the door.

“Hullo,” he mumbled. “Can I come in?”

“Come in, Mr. Mason,” said Wade. “Take a seat. You’re just the man we wanted to see. Do you remember Mr. Ackroyd, here, coming along to the office before the party?”

Mason passed his hand wearily over his forehead and slumped into a chair.

“Do I remember—? Yes, I do. Didn’t I tell you that? I’m sorry.”

“Quite all right. We just have to check up these little points. I don’t think I asked you, definitely. Cass, take Mr. Ackroyd along to his dressing-room and let him get anything he wants. Will you call in at the station between two and three this afternoon, Mr. Ackroyd? Thank you. Good morning.”

“And that,” said Ackroyd bitterly, “takes me right off. Good morning.”

When he had gone, Mason turned to Wade.

“Is there any mail here for me?” he asked.

“I think there is, Mr. Mason. We’ll let you have it.”