“Absolutely,” said Broadhead firmly.

Alleyn lit his cigarette.

“Yee-ers,” said Wade thoughtfully. He turned to Alleyn. “I don’t know if you’d care to put a question, sir?”

“Oh, thanks,” said Alleyn. “Do you know I would, rather. Mr. Broadhead, did you fall asleep in the carriage before we got to Ohakune?”

Broadhead stared.

“Yes. At least I dozed. Had a nightmare.”

“Any idea how long you were asleep?”

“No. Ten minutes perhaps. I don’t know.”

“I was sound asleep myself. I remember noticing, just before I dozed off, that you and Mr. Hambledon seemed to be the only other persons awake in the carriage.”

“I watched you fall asleep,” volunteered Broadhead. “I remember that. You just shut your eyes and went still. The others all had their mouths open. I wondered if you were foxing.”

“Why?” asked Alleyn sharply.

“I don’t know. I thought you might be bored with the great H.H.”

“With Hambledon? No. Did he go to sleep?”

“I don’t think so. Wait a moment. The last thing I remember before I shut my own eyes was — was looking along the carriage towards the door. I thought they all looked half dead, swaying in their seats with their mouths open. I saw Hailey pick up a paper and hold it sideways to catch the light. His back was towards me, you know. I could see his arm and half the back of his head. That’s the last thing I remember before I fell asleep.”

“And when you woke?”

“Nobody seemed to have moved. It was all rather unreal and smoky and noisy. Then you woke up and began to speak to Hambledon.”

“No one had moved,” murmured Alleyn to himself.

“At least—” Broadhead stopped short.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got a sort of hazy idea someone went down the corridor, past my chair. You know how one gets the impression of things when one dozes in a train. I might have dreamt it. No — I don’t think I did. Someone went past. I think it half-woke me.”

“Do you mean that this person walked back from the direction of the platform at the head of the carriage, or towards it from the rear of the carriage?”

“Back. He was facing me. Probably been to the lav. at the rear of the sleeper.”

“He?”

“Yes. I think so. He must have sat down in one of the seats behind me.”

“He may have gone right through.”

“No. I remember waiting for the door to slam. It didn’t. I went to sleep again.”

“Thank you,” said Alleyn. “I’ve no other questions, Inspector Wade.”

“Good-oh, sir.” Wade turned to Broadhead. “What did you do with Mrs. Meyer’s tiki?” he asked.

“What? Nothing. I never had it. Look here, what is all this about that damned little monster? You started it in the wardrobe-room, Mr. Alleyn. What’s the dazzling idea?”

“We simply want to trace the tiki, Mr. Broadhead,” said Wade. “Mrs. Meyer has lost it.”

“She’s also lost a husband,” said Broadhead tartly. “I thought you were looking for a murderer, not a thief.”

“That’s certainly—”

“What’s more, I don’t believe she cares tuppence whether the tiki’s lost or found. What the hell are you driving at? Am I supposed to have pinched the filthy little object? I’ve had about as much as I can stand. You think I stole Val Gaynes’s money, don’t you? You think it’s all a lie about Meyer lending me the cash. You think I’m a thief and a murderer—” His voice rose hysterically. Cass looked perturbed and moved a step or two nearer to Broadhead. Wade stood up hastily.

“Keep off,” shouted Broadhead; “you can’t arrest me — you can’t—”

“My good ass,” advised Alleyn, “don’t put ideas in our heads and don’t dramatise yourself. As you have suggested, this is a serious matter. Nobody’s trying to arrest you. Inspector Wade has asked you a perfectly reasonable question. Why not answer it?”

“There now, Mr. Broadhead,” said Wade, “that’s the. way to look at it.”

“I suppose,” said Broadhead more quietly, “you’ve heard all about the scene in the wardrobe-room. I suppose your distinguished colleague has told you what that little stinker Palmer said about me.”

“And all about your subsequent attempt upon the stinker,” murmured Alleyn. “Yes.”

“Don’t you think it was a pretty foul thing to sit there as if you were one of us, playing the spy, all agog to report to the police? Don’t you? Don’t you think it would have been the decent thing to say — to say—”

“To say,” suggested Alleyn helpfully: “ ‘I’m a detective, so if one of you killed this very honest little gentleman whom you all profess to admire so much, don’t do anything to give yourself away.’ No, Mr. Broadhead.”

“My God, I was as fond of him as any of them. He was a damn’ good friend to me.”

“Then,” said Alleyn, “see if you can help Inspector Wade to trace the little greenstone tiki.”

“Oh, hell!” said Broadhead. “All right! All right! Though what the suffering cats it’s got to do with the case — All right. Go ahead.”

“Well, now,” said Wade. “I understand you all took a look at this tiki before you sat down to supper. Did you handle it, Mr. Broadhead?”

“Yes. I had it in my hand for a moment. Someone took it from me.”

“Who?”

“I think it was Frankie Liversidge. I’m not sure. It was passed round.”

“Yes. Now, Mr. Broadhead, I want you to go back to the end of the performance, last night. Were you acting right up to the finish?”

“Acting!” said Broadhead distastefully. “No, I wasn’t ‘acting.’ I finished just before Miss Dacres’s big scene.”

“What did you do then?”

“Stood in the wings for the company call at the curtain.”

“Then you were acting, as you might say,” insisted Wade crossly.

“If you call hanging about off-stage—”

“Let it go. After the play was over, what did you do?”

“Bolted to the dressing-room and took off my make-up.”

“Anyone with you?”

“Yes. Vernon and Frankie Liversidge.”

“All the time?”

“Vernon and I went back together. Frankie came in a minute or two later, I think. And Ackroyd joined us before we went along to the party.”

“All right. Now after the accident I understand that at the suggestion of Dr. Te Pokiha and the chief inspector here, you all went to your dressing-rooms and later to the wardrobe-room. Did you go directly to the wardrobe-room, Mr. Broadhead?”

“No. I went into my dressing-room on the way.”

“What for?”

“To get my overcoat. I was shivering.”

“How long were you in the dressing-room?”

“About five minutes.”

“Five minutes to fetch a coat?”

“Well — Branny was there.”

“Who’s he?”

“Brandon Vernon — the heavy. I told you we share the dressing-room. Branny had a flask there. We had a nip. Needed it. Frankie came in later and had one, too. Then we all went to the wardrobe-room.”

“To get to the dressing-room, you passed the iron ladder that goes up to the platform?”

“What platform?”

“I think it’s called the grid,” said Alleyn diffidently. “Or is it the flies?”

“Oh,” said Broadhead. “Yes. I suppose we did. It’s just by the dressing-room passage, isn’t it?”

Wade shifted his position and became elaborately casual.

“You didn’t happen to glance up towards the platform at all, I suppose?”

“Good Lord, I don’t know. Why should I?”

“You didn’t get the impression anyone was up there?”

“I didn’t get any impression at all.”

“Did you all leave the stage together — the whole company, I mean, and the guests?”

“Pretty well. Everyone was very quiet. The guests just petered away as soon as they could. We stood for a moment by the entrance to the passage to let Miss Dacres go first. Then we followed.”

“All together?”

“We didn’t make a football scrum of it,” said Broadhead crossly. “It’s a narrow passage.”

“When you got to the wardrobe-room, was everyone there?”

“I wasn’t the last.”

“Who came in after you, Mr. Broadhead?”

“Oh, Lord!” said Broadhead again. “Let’s see. Well, Gascoigne was after me, and Mr. Mason. Susan and Hailey Hambledon came in just before that, I think, with Miss Dacres, I’m not sure. No, by George, Mr. Alleyn was last.”