He sat on a low chair near the fireplace and wound one thin leg mysteriously round the other. “Go ahead,” he repeated.

Parish, at first, seemed a little disconcerted, but he soon became fortified by his own words.

“Luke,” he said, “is lying on the settle. The settle against the left-hand wall.”

“Actors’ left or audience’s left?” asked Cubitt.

“Audience’s left. I’m deliberately seeing it as a stage setting, Norman.”

“So I understand.”

“And Inspector Alleyn knows the room. At first nobody touches Luke. His face is very white and he looks as if he’ll faint. I’m standing near his head. Legge’s still out in front of the dart board. He’s saying something about being sorry. I’ve got it now. It’s strange, but thinking of it like this brings it back to me. You, Norman, and Decima, are by the bar. She’s sitting on the bar in the far corner. Will has taken a step out into the room and Abel’s leaning over the bar. Wait a moment. Miss Darragh is further away near the inglenook, and is sitting down. Old George Nark, blind tight, is teetering about near Miss Darragh. That’s the picture.”

“Go on, please,” said Alleyn.

“Well, the lights waver. Sometimes it’s almost dark, then the figures all show up again. Or—” Parish looked at Cubitt.

“No,” said Cubitt, “that wasn’t the brandy, Seb. You’re quite right.”

“Well, I can’t go any further,” said Parish petulantly. “The rest’s still a filthy nightmare. Can you sort it out?”

“Please do, if you can, Mr. Cubitt,” said Alleyn. Cubitt was filling his pipe. His fingers, blunt-ended, were stained, as usual, with oil paint.

“It’s as everybody described it at the inquest,” he said. “I think Seb and I both had the same idea, that Watchman was simply upset at the sight of his own blood. It’s true about the lights. The room seemed to — to sort of pulse with shadows. I remember Luke’s right hand. It groped about his chest as if he felt for a handkerchief or something. Legge said something like: ‘My God! I’m sorry, is it bad?’ Something like that. And then Legge said something more. ‘Look at his face! My God, it’s not lockjaw, is it?’ And you, Seb, said ‘Not it,’ and trotted out the old story about Luke’s sensibilities.”

“How was I to know? You make it sound—”

“Of course you weren’t to know. I agreed with you, but Legge was very upset and, at the mention of lockjaw, Abel went to the cupboard and got out the iodine and a bandage. Miss Darragh came to life, and took the bandage from Abel. Abel dabbed iodine on the finger, and Luke sort of shuddered, like you do with the sting of the stuff. Miss Darragh said something about brandy. Decima Moore took the bottle off the bar and poured some into Luke’s glass. His glass was on the table.”

“The table by the dart board close to Mr. Parish?”

Cubitt looked up from his pipe.

“That’s it,” he said. “Decima gave Luke the brandy. He seemed to get worse, just about then. He had a sort of convulsion.” Cubitt paused. “It was beastly,” he said and his voice changed. “The glass went flying. Miss Darragh pressed forward with the bandage and then— then the lights went out.”

“That’s very clear,” said Alleyn. “I take it that, from the time Abel Pomeroy got the iodine and bandage until Mr. Watchman died, you were all gathered round the settle?”

“Yes. We didn’t really change positions, much; not Legge, or Will, or Seb here, or me. Abel and the two women came forward.”

“And when the lights went up again,” said Alleyn, “were the positions the same?”

“Pretty much. But—”

“Yes?”

Cubitt looked steadily at Alleyn. His pipe was gripped between his teeth. He felt in his pockets.

“There was a devil of a lot of movement while the lights were out.”

Chapter XI

Routine

i

“What sort of movement?” asked Alleyn.

“I know what you mean,” said Parish, before Cubitt could answer. “It was Luke. He must have had a sort of attack after the lights went out. It was appalling.”

“I don’t mean that,” said Cubitt. “I know Luke made a noise. His feet beat a sort of tattoo on the settle. He flung his arms about and — he made other noises.”

“For God’s sake,” Parish broke out, “don’t talk about it like that! I don’t know how you can sit there and discuss it.”

“It looks as if we’ve got to,” said Cubitt.

“I’m afraid it does,” agreed Alleyn. “What other movements did you notice, beyond those made by Mr. Watchman?”

“Somebody was crawling about the floor,” Cubitt said.

Parish made a gesture of impatience. “My dear old Norman,” he said, “ ‘Crawling about the floor!’ You’re giving Mr. Alleyn a wrong impression. Completely wrong! I’ve no doubt one of us may have stooped down in the dark, knelt down, perhaps, to try and get hold of Luke.”

“I don’t mean that at all,” said Cubitt calmly. “Someone was literally crawling about the floor. Whoever it was banged his head against my knees.”

“Where were you standing?” asked Alleyn.

“By the foot of the settle. I had my back to the settle. The backs of my knees touched it.”

“How d’you know it was a head?” demanded Parish. “It might have been a foot.”

“I can distinguish between a foot and a head,” said Cubitt, “even in the dark.”

“Somebody feeling round for the brandy glass,” said Parish.

“It was after the brandy glass was broken.” Cubitt looked at Alleyn. “Somebody trod on the glass soon after the lights went out. There’s probably nothing in it, anyway. I’ve no idea at all whose head it was.”

“Was it Legge’s head?” demanded Parish, suddenly.

“I tell you, Seb,” said Cubitt, quite mildly, “I don’t know whose head it was. I merely know it was there. It simply butted against my knees and drew away quickly.”

“Well, of course!” said Parish. “It was Abel.”

“Why Abel?”

Parish turned to Alleyn.

“Abel dropped the bottle of iodine just before the lights went out. I remember that. He must have stooped down to try and find it.”

“If it was Abel, he didn’t succeed,” said Alleyn. “The bottle was found under the settle, you know.”

“Well, it was dark.”

“So it was,” agreed Alleyn. “Why did you think it might be Mr. Legge’s head?”

Parish at once became very solemn. He moved to the hearthrug. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his shorts, pulled in his belly, and stuck out his jaw.

“God knows,” he began, “I don’t want to condemn any man, but Norman and I have talked this thing over.”

“Come off it, Seb,” said Cubitt. “We haven’t a blessed thing against the fellow, you know. Nothing that would be of any interest to Mr. Alleyn. I’m very well aware that my own ideas are largely self-protective. I suppose you know, Mr. Alleyn, that Watchman left me some of his money.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn.

“Yes. It’s as good a motive as any other. Better than most. I don’t fancy I’m in a position to make suggestions about other people.”

He said this with a sort of defiance, looking out of the window and half-smiling.

“This sort of thing,” added Cubitt, “finds out the thin patches in one’s honesty.”

“If you can admit as much,” said Alleyn, quickly, “perhaps they are not so very thin.”

“Thanks,” said Cubitt, drily.

“Well,” began Parish, with the air of running after the conversation, “I don’t altogether agree with you, Norman. I make no secret about dear old Luke leaving the rest of his money to me. In a way, it was the natural thing for him to do. I’m his next-of-kin.”

“But I,” said Cubitt, “am no relation at all.”

“Oh, my dear old boy!” cried Parish in a hurry. “You were his best friend. Luke said so when he—” Parish stopped short.

“To revert,” said Alleyn, “to Mr. Legge. You were going to talk about Mr. Legge, weren’t you?”

“I was,” said Parish. “I can’t help what you think, Norman old boy. It seems to me that Legge’s hand in this ghastly business is pretty obvious. Nobody but Legge could have known the poisoned dart would take effect. I must say I don’t see that there’s much mystery about it.”