“I have only this to say,” he said quietly, “a man was done to death in this house at five minutes to eight last night. It is possible — but only just possible — that the crime was brought off by someone from the outside. Until the inquest is over I’m afraid no one may leave Frantock. You will all, if you please, confine yourselves to the house and grounds. Should any of you want to go further afield, just let me know, will you, and if the reason is urgent, I’ll provide a suitable escort. You will be at liberty to use the hall and drawing-room an hour after this little chat is ended. During that hour I must ask you to allow me to make my examination of those rooms.”

There was a difficult silence. Then Rosemund Grant spoke.

“For how long will these restrictions be enforced?” she asked. Her voice, level and expressionless, suddenly and shockingly reminded Nigel of Rankin’s.

“The inquest will probably he held on Thursday,” said Alleyn. “Until after then, at all events, I shall ask you to stay where you are.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” asked Handesley. “I am, of course, only too anxious for every effort to be made, but I understand some of my guests — Mrs. Wilde for instance — are naturally longing to get away from the unhappy associations of my house.” A foreign overtone of deprecation in his voice filled Nigel suddenly with an enormous sense of pity.

“Sir Hubert,” he said quickly, “the situation is more difficult for yeu than for any of us. If we must stay, we must, but I am sure we will, all of us, try to be as little nuisance and as much help as may be. Under such circumstances all personal considerations must go to blazes. I’m afraid that’s not very well put, but—”

“I entirely agreed,” broke in Wilde. “It is inconvenient, but convenience hardly counts at such a time. My wife, I am sure, will understand this.”

As in answer to this assertion the door was opened and Marjorie Wilde came in.

The placing of the others, the tenseness of the moment and the lateness of her arrival gave it something of the character of a theatrical entrance. There was, however, little else that was stagey about Mrs. Wilde’s appearance. She came in very quietly, her make-up was much less vigorously stated than usual and her clothes, as Nigel found himself reflecting, contrived to look like mourning.

“I’m very sorry to have kept you all waiting,” she murmured. “Please don’t move, anyone.”

Her husband pulled a chair up for her and at last they were all seated at the table.

“Now,” said Alleyn, “I understand, I think, the general principles and the history of this game which ended so strangely and so tragically. I do not, however, quite realize what would have happened if a sham instead of a real victim had been found—”

“But excuse me,” began Tokareff, “is this, how you say, a relevancy?”

“It is quite in order, otherwise I should not ask. What would you have done in the ordinary course of the game?” He turned to Wilde.

“We should,” said Wilde, “have immediately assembled and held a mock trial, with a ‘judge’ and a ‘prosecuting attorney,’ each of us having the right to cross-examine. Our object would have been to find the ‘murderer’—the member of the party to whom Vassily had given the scarlet plaque.”

“Thank you — yes, I see. And you have not done this?”

“Good God, Inspector,” said Nigel violently, “what do you take us for?”

“He takes one of us for a criminal,” said Rosamund slowly.

“I think the Murder Game should be played out,” Alleyn continued. “I propose that we hold the trial precisely as it was planned. I shall play the part of prosecuting attorney. I’m not very good at official language, but I’ll do my poor best. For the moment there will be no judge. That will be the only difference between this and the original version — except that I hope there will be no difficulty in at once discovering the recipient of the scarlet plaque.”

“There will be no difficulty,” said Wilde, “Vassily gave the scarlet plaque to me.”

Arthur Wilde’s announcement had a dramatic effect quite out of proportion to its real value. Nigel experienced a violent emotional shock, followed immediately by the reflection that, after all, the identity of the recipient of the plaque had very little bearing on the case.

It was odd that they should none of them have thought of locating the “villain” in the game. That was all.

Complete silence followed Wilde’s statement. Rosamund broke it. “Oh well,” she said evenly, “what of that?”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Wilde,” said Alleyn. The Inspector’s manner had undoubtedly become most convincingly official. “You have come forward as the first witness. You were given the plaque at dinner?”

“Yes — Vassily slipped it into my hand as I helped myself to the savoury.”

“Had you formed any definite plan about carrying out your role in the game?”

“Not precisely. I was thinking it over as I lay in my bath. Mr. Bathgate was in the next room. I decided against him as the victim — too obvious — then I heard the gong and the lights went out. I was just going to call out that it couldn’t be the ‘murder’ but an accident of some sort, when I realized that I should, be giving my own show away before I had brought it off. So I pretended to think it was the ‘murder’ and began drying myself and dressing. I thought I should find an easy ‘victim’ in the darkness. I did too—!”

A violent exclamation from Handesley interrupted him.

“What is it, Sir Hubert?” asked Alleyn gently.

“It was you then, Arthur, who ran into me on the landing and said, ‘You’re the corpse’?”

“And it was you who answered ‘Shut up, you ass,’ ” returned Wilde. “Yes, you thought I was fooling. When I realized that, I got away quickly.”

“Just a moment,” interrupted the detective. “Let me get this quite clear. Really it’s frightfully muddling. When the alarm was given, Mr. Wilde, you were in your bath. Knowing yourself to be the intended ‘murderer’ in the game you imagined the darkness and the gong sounding were accidental?”

“I thought the gong was sounded for dinner and that the lights had possibly fused.”

“Yes, I see. So you lay low and determined to perform your part in the game under cover of the dark?”

“Yes,” said Wilde. His voice was patiently courteous.

“For a detective,” thought Nigel, “the Inspector seems to be making rather heavy way of this.”

Alleyn continued. “So you came out on to the landing, ran into Sir Hubert and instantly uttered the set phrase. You, Sir Hubert, thought he was fooling?”

“Yes, certainly. The signal had been given. As a matter of fact I thought — I rather thought it was Rankin. I don’t know why.”

“Mr. Wilde,” said Alleyn, “in the words of the popular coloured engraving, when did you last see Mr. Rankin?”

“I was talking to him alone in the hall before we went up to dress. We were the last to go up. Charles remarked that if either of us was ‘he’ in the game it would be no good trying to victimize the other as everyone knew we were left alone together.”

“Yes, exactly. Then Mr. Rankin was still in the hall when you went up to dress?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone see you together?”

Wilde thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “I remember Mary, the little between-maid, came in and went out the entrance hall to lock the front door. She was still tidying or something as I went upstairs. I remember I asked her if she knew the right time — if the hall clock was right. She said, ‘Yes, ten minutes to eight’ and I said, ‘Good Lord, we’ll be late’ or something like that and ran upstairs, leaving her there.”

“Presumably, then, Mr. Rankin was alone in the hall from a little after 7.50 till five minutes to eight when he was killed. About four minutes. Thank you, Mr. Wilde.”