They passed the musterer, riding a half-clipped, raky-looking horse at a lope along the rough grass at the roadside. The three panting sheep-dogs ran in the shade of the horse. The man again solemnly wagged his head at them and raised a hand as they passed. The folding hills marched about. A party of Maoris, grouped on a ramshackle veranda, grinned and waved. They overtook several cars and met several more. The settlements grew closer together, and at length they came over the brow of the last hill, and looked across the flat to Middleton.

“Last lap,” said Alleyn, breaking a long silence.

Carolyn did not answer. He turned to look at her. Her head was bent down and, as heavily as a mandarin’s, nodded with the motion of the car. She was sound asleep. At the next bend she swayed towards him. With an equivocal grimace he raised his left hand and tipped her head against his shoulder. She did not wake until the car drew up outside the hotel.

Chapter XX

EXIT LIVERSIDGE. ENTER BOB PARSONS (WHISTLING)

As soon as he had put Carolyn into the lift, Alleyn glanced into the writing-room. Should he try and get off a couple of letters for the English mail, or should he look up Wade and give him an account of the interview with Carolyn? He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, and then noticed George Mason, bent over one of the writing-tables, hard at work. Alleyn strolled across and seated himself at a neighboring desk.

“Oh, hullo,” said Mason abstractedly. “Have a nice day?”

Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly burst into a recital of his woes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Alleyn. I’m all anyhow. I don’t know what to tell our advance to do— whether to go on with the tour or cancel everything. And there’s all the English end to attend to. I’m going crazy just with not knowing. How long do you think they’ll keep us here, for God’s sake?”

“Things are looking a bit clearer ahead now,” said Alleyn. “The local men seem to be very efficient.”

“It’s awful to be worrying about the business side of it with old Alf — Well, there it is. The whole thing’s so damn’ beastly. Everybody wondering about everybody else. No use mincing matters. Someone did it. It’s this blasted uncertainty.”

“I know,” said Alleyn. “I say, Mason, you know I’ve taken a hand in it, don’t you?”

“Yes. Very glad to hear it.”

“Well, look here, I’m going to ask you a question in confidence.” Mason looked alarmed. “You needn’t answer if you don’t want to, but it’d help matters a lot if you could tell me one thing.”

“Can but ask.”

“Right. Did Mr. Meyer know who took Miss Gaynes’s money?”

Mason stared at him like a dyspeptic owl.

“Matter of fact, he did,” he said at last.

“You know who it was?”

“Alfred told me,” said Mason uncomfortably. “It was a question of what we’d do. Damned awkward in the beginning of a tour like this.”

“Yes. Will you tell me who it was?”

Mason eyed him unhappily but shrewdly.

“What’ll it lead to? Look here, Alleyn, you’re not trying to link up the theft and the murder, are you?”

“Personally, I long to disassociate them.”

“By Jove!” said Mason slowly. “I — wonder.”

“When did Mr. Meyer guess who took the money?”

“Oh, Lor’—he saw it happen.”

“Did he, indeed! Come now, I’ll put it to you, as our learned friends say. I’ll put one name to you, and one name only. If I’m wrong, let it drop. I promise not to go on.”

“All right!” agreed Mason, looking rather relieved.

“Liversidge?”

There was a long silence.

“Oh, Lor’,” repeated Mason, “I thought you were going to say Broadhead. After young Palmer’s display, you know.”

“How did Mr. Meyer come to see it?”

“It was on board — the last night. Alfred was going along the passage to his state-room and passed Val’s door. He’d just seen her in the smoke-room. He heard someone moving about in her cabin and thought it was a funny time for the stewardess to be in there. Then he noticed that her light wasn’t up — there’s a thick glass fanlight, you know. Alfred saw a sort of flicker as if someone had an electric torch going. He was standing there, uncertain what to do, when the door opened a crack. Opposite the door there was a men’s lav. with curtains in front of the entrance place. Alfred popped behind them and watched. He thought perhaps one of the stewards was doing the odd spot of pinching. Well, presently the door of Val Gaynes’s room opened wider, and out came Mr. Frankie Liversidge, very pussyfoot and cautious. Alf said it was just like a scene from one of the old French farces, and, of course, he thought the explanation was the same.”

Mason pulled a face, and then rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

“Do go on,” said Alleyn.

“Well, here’s the bit that’ll sound rather peculiar, I dare say. You’d never have thought it after thirty years in the business, but Alfred was a bit straight-laced. Fact! He wouldn’t stand for any funny business in any of his companies. I know it sounds queer,” said Mason apologetically, “but that’s how he was. Well, what did he do but come out through the curtains and fetch up, face-to-face, with Liversidge. He just stood there and stared at Liversidge reproachfully, and was cogitating what he’d say to him about the way nice young girls were to be held in respect or something, when Frankie said: ‘I’ve been making an apple-pie bed for Val.’ Frankie’s face was as white as a sheet and he had his hands in his pockets. Alfie didn’t say a word, and Frankie gave a kind of laugh and made an exit. What do you think old Alfred did next?”

“Had a look at the bed to see if it was in apple-pie order?”

“Got it in one,” said Mason, opening his eyes very wide. “And it wasn’t. I mean it was. All tidy and undisturbed. Nothing wrong with it. Well, Alfred toddled off to his own room and did a bit of hard thinking. He decided that Liversidge had been waiting there for Val and had changed his mind, for some reason. Alfred thought he’d watch the situation for a bit, and speak a few heavy-father lines to Val, if they seemed to be called for. That was that. Then came the discovery of the theft and Alf put two and two together and made a burglary.”

“When did he tell you about it?”

“The first evening we were here. He told me he’d tackled Liversidge and there was no doubt he’d done it. God knows why. He’d won a lot at poker. He’s just a bad ’un. Well, Alfred said he’d pay it back to Val and stop it out of Liversidge’s treasury. And of course Liversidge would go as soon as we could get a decent actor from Australia to play the parts. For the sake of the good name of Incorporated Playhouses he wouldn’t make it public. I agreed and that was that. Now look, Alleyn. I’ve told you as much as I know myself but, if you can, keep it to yourself. The Firm—”

“I understand that. If it doesn’t belong to the case we won’t press it,” said Alleyn at once. He added a word or two to something he had written while Mason was talking.

“There’s just one more thing,” he said. “Did Mr. Meyer get the impression that Liversidge knew he hadn’t got away with the apple-pie bed story? At the time, I mean?”

“I see what you mean. Alfred said Liversidge turned very white as soon as he saw him and seemed very uncomfortable. Alfred just stared at him, sort of more in sorrow than in anger. I don’t think he made any pretence of believing the story. He said Frankie’s face gave him away.”

“I see,” said Alleyn slowly. “See here, Mr. Mason, I’ll have to hand this on to Wade, but I’ll ask him not to make it public if he can avoid it. It may have no bearing on the case.”

“Damn’ fair of you. Though now we’ve got murder in the Firm, my God, I suppose we can’t be too fussy about an odd theft or so.” And Mason buried his face in his hands.

“I’m dead beat,” he said. “I feel as if I’d got a red-hot-cannon-ball in my chest and half a ton of sawdust in my stomach.”