“Ackroyd!” she cried.

“It was, but don’t say so.”

“I’ll be bound. Little beast. He’s never forgiven her — never.”

“For what?”

“It was when he rejoined us for the revival of Our Best Intentions—a year ago it was. He’s the type that always hangs round the leading woman and tries to go big with the management. You can smell ’em a mile off. Well, he tried it on with Carolyn Dacres and believe me it took him right off,” said Susan, becoming technical. “As soon as the funny business started she was well up-stage and Mr. Ackroyd made a quiet exit with no rounds of applause. He’s a spiteful little beast and he’s never forgiven her or Hailey. Hailey actually spoke to him about it, you know. I believe George Mason did, too. He’s never forgotten it. You heard how he spoke about George to-night. Dragging in that American business.”

“Nothing in it?”

“My dear,” said Susan resignedly, “I dare say something did happen. I rather think it did, but if we knew all the circumstances I’ve no doubt we’d find faults on both sides. George Mason started in a small way and he’s not the only one, by a long chalk, that’s got an incident of that sort to live down. My advice to you is, forget all about it. Whatever happened in the early days, he’s an honest man now. I’ve worked for him for a good many years and you can take my word for it. And what’s more, I wouldn’t say the same for Ackroyd.”

“I see,” said Alleyn.

“Anything more?” asked Susan.

“I don’t think so. Thank you so much. Perhaps Inspector Wade—”

“No thanks, sir, no thanks,” said Wade, getting up from the desk where he had sat in silence. “Unless — the train—?”

“Miss Max sat opposite me. She slept all the time, I fancy.”

“The train!” ejaculated Susan.

Alleyn explained.

“Yes,” said Susan, “I was asleep. Do you mean you think that business on the train had something to do with this?”

“Who can tell?” murmured Alleyn vaguely. “You’re longing to get home to your bed, aren’t you?”

“Well, I am.”

She hitched herself off the chair and waddled to the door. Alleyn opened it. She stood, a roundabout and lonely little figure, looking up at him very earnestly.

“In that other case in London someone nearly killed you by dropping a chandelier from the grid, didn’t they?”

“So they did.”

“You don’t think it’s — it’s given anyone an idea?”

Alleyn stared at her.

“I wonder,” he said.

Chapter XII

LIVERSIDGE FLUFFS HIS LINES

“What was she driving at?” asked Wade when Susan had gone.

“Oh — the Gardener case. A neurotic property-man dumped half a ton of candelabra on the stage in a childish attempt to distract my attention. Later on he became victim No. 2, poor booby. Knew too much. It all came out in the evidence. I imagine they take a lot of trouble when men are working aloft. I remember the stage-manager told me the hands always have their tools tied to their wrists, in case of accidents.”

“Well, sir, you got some nice little bits out of the old lady. Of course her being a friend made a difference.”

“Of course,” agreed Alleyn cordially.

“Do you reckon there’s anything in this story of Ackroyd’s about Mason stranding a company in America?”

“I am inclined to agree with Miss Max’s opinion of Ackroyd as a witness, but we’d better look into Mr. Mason’s history, of course. I’ll get them to do that at the Yard.”

“Ackroyd means Mason walked out and left his company cold?”

“Yes. Not an unusual proceeding with small companies, I fancy, in the old days. A dirty trick, of course.”

“Too right — and if he’s that sort — still, it doesn’t mean every manager that strands a company would do in his partner.”

“Indeed not. The routes of touring companies would have been strewn with managerial corpses, I’m afraid.”

“There’s the motive, though. You can’t get away from that, sir,” persisted Wade.

“Oh, rather not. There’s also the perfectly good alibi.”

“Don’t I know it? Oh, well, Miss Max seems O.K. as far as the two important times are concerned.”

“What’s happened to the dresser?” asked Alleyn.

“Oh, I saw her and the two Australians in the company and most of the staff soon after we got here. We just took statements and let them go. We’ve got their addresses. They’re out of the picture as you might say. The Australians have only just joined the company and the stage-hands are local men with good characters.”

“I know,” said Alleyn.

“How about having a pop at Mr. Liversidge, sir?”

“Who, me?”

“That’s right. Will you, sir?”

“At your service, Inspector.”

So Cass was dispatched to the wardrobe-room and returned with Mr. Frank Liversidge, who came in looking very beautiful. His black hair was varnished down to his head and resembled an American leather cap. His dinner-jacket, a thought too waisted, his boiled shirt, his rather large tie, were all in perfect order and so was Mr. Liversidge. As soon as he saw Alleyn he uttered a musical laugh and advanced with manly frankness.

“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Liversidge, in a dreadfully synthetic language that was so very nearly the right thing. “Who’d have thought it of you? I’ve maintained that you were an ambassador incog., and Val was all for the Secret Service.”

“Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid,” murmured Alleyn. “This is Inspector Wade, Mr. Liversidge. He has asked me to talk to you about one or two features of this business. Will you sit down?”

“Thanks,” said Liversidge gracefully. “So the Yard is coming into the show, is it?”

“By courtesy. Now, will you please give us an account of your movements after the final curtain tonight?”

“My movements?” He raised his eyebrows and took out his cigarette-case. All his actions were a little larger than life. Alleyn found himself thinking of them in terms of stage-craft. “Bus.—L. taps cigarette. Takes lighter from pocket. Lights cigarette with deliberation.”

“My movements,” repeated Liversidge, wafting smoke-rings in Alleyn’s direction. “Let me see. Oh, I went to my dressing-room and demolished the warpaint.”

“Immediately after the final curtain?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“You found Mr. Vernon and Mr. Broadhead there?”

“Did I? Yes, I believe I did. It’s a big room. We share it.”

“They were on at the final curtain, of course?”

“We all take the call.”

“But they reached the dressing-room before you did?”

“Marvellous deduction, Inspector! Now I think of it, I was a little late getting there. I stayed off-stage for a minute or two.”

“Why did you do this??

“Oh, I was talking.”

“To whom?”

“My dear old boy, I don’t know. Who was it now! Oh, Valerie Gaynes.”

“I’m sure,” said Alleyn formally, “you will understand that these questions are not prompted by idle curiosity.”

“My dear old boy!” repeated Liversidge. Alleyn restrained a wince.

“Then perhaps you will not object to telling us what you and Miss Gaynes talked about.”

Liversidge looked from Wade to Cass and back again at Alleyn.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I don’t remember.”

“Please try to remember. It’s only a couple of hours ago. Where were you standing?”

“Oh, just off-stage somewhere.”

“On the prompt side.”

“Er — yes.”

“Then perhaps Mr. Gascoigne will remember. He was there.”

“He was nowhere near us.”

“You remember that,” said Alleyn vaguely.

Liversidge lost a little of his colour.

“As a matter of fact, Alleyn,” he said after a moment, “our conversation was about a personal matter. I’m afraid I can’t repeat it. Nothing that could have the remotest interest to anyone but ourselves. You do understand.”

“Oh, rather. How long did it last?”

“Two or three minutes, perhaps.”

“If you were near the prompt entrance you were not far from the steel ladder that goes up into the grid. Did anyone come down that ladder while you were there?”