“And the motive?” asked Cubitt.

Alleyn said: “I understand your cousin told you that he and Mr. Legge were strangers to each other.”

“I know he did,” said Parish, “but I don’t believe it was true. I believe Luke recognized Legge. Not at first, perhaps, but later. During that first evening in the bar. I suppose you know that Legge smashed into my cousin’s car before ever he got here? That’s a bit funny, too, when you come to think of it.”

“What,” asked Cubitt, “is the dark inference, Seb? Why was it funny? Do you suppose that Legge lurked round Diddlestock Corner in a two-seater, and that every time he heard a powerful car coming down Ottercombe Road, he hurled his baby out of cover in the hopes of ramming Luke?”

“Oh, don’t be an ass. I simply mean it was a coincidence.”

“About the first evening in the bar?” suggested Alleyn, who had decided that there was a certain amount to be said for allowing Parish and Cubitt plenty of rein.

“Yes. Well, I was going to tell you,” said Parish. “I talked to Luke while he had his supper in the bar. He told me about this business with the cars and rather let off steam on the subject of the other driver. Well, it turned out that Legge was sitting in the settle — the— actually it was the settle where Luke — where it happened. When Luke realized Legge must have heard he went across and sort of made the amende-honorable, if you know what I mean. He didn’t make much headway. Legge was rather stuffy and up-stage.”

“Was all this while the poison-party was going on in the stable?”

“What? Yes. Yes, it was.”

“So that Mr. Legge did not attend the party in the stables?”

“I suppose not. But he knew all about it. When Abel came in he warned everybody in the place about what he’d done.”

Parish hesitated. “It’s hard to describe,” he said. “But if you’d known my cousin you’d understand. He seemed to be getting at Legge. Even you’ll agree to that, Norman.”

“Yes,” said Cubitt. “I put it down to Luke’s vanity.”

“His vanity?” asked Alleyn.

“Parish doesn’t agree with me,” said Cubitt with a faint smile, “on the subject of Watchman’s vanity. I’ve always considered he attached importance to being on good terms with people. It seemed to me that when Legge snubbed his advances Watchman was at first disconcerted and put out of countenance, and then definitely annoyed. They had a bet on that first night about Legge’s dart-throwing and Legge won. That didn’t help. Then Watchman chipped Legge about his politics and his job. Not very prettily, I thought. It was then, or about then, that the trick with the darts was first mentioned.”

“By Legge,” Parish pointed out.

“I know, but Luke insisted on the experiment.”

“Mr. Cubitt,” said Alleyn, “did you not get the impression that these two men had met before?”

Norman Cubitt rumpled his hair and scowled.

“I don’t say that,” he said. “I wondered. But I don’t think one should attach too much importance to what Watchman said.” And like Parish, he added: “If you’d ever met him you’d understand.”

Alleyn did not think it necessary to say that he had met Watchman. He said: “Can you remember anything definite that seemed to point to recognition?”

“It was more the way Luke spoke than what he actually said,” explained Parish. “He kept talking about Legge’s job and sort of suggesting he’d done pretty well for himself. Didn’t he, Norman?”

“I seem to remember a phrase about leading the people by the nose,” said Cubitt, “which sounded rather offensive. And the way Luke invited Legge to play Round-the-Clock was not exactly the glass of fashion or the mould of form. He asked Legge if he’d ever done time.”

“Oh,” said Alleyn.

“But it all sounds far too solemn and significant when you haul it out and display it like this.”

“Anyone would think,” said Parish, “that you were trying to protect Legge. I thought it was all damned odd.”

“I’m not trying to protect Legge, but I’ve no particular wish to make him sound like a man of mystery. ‘Who is Mr. X?’ As far as we know, Mr. X is a rather dreary little Soviet-fan who combines philately with communism, and is pretty nippy with the darts. And what’s more, I don’t see how he could have infected the dart. In fact, I’m prepared to swear he didn’t. I was watching his hands. They’re ugly hands and he’s a clumsy mover. Have you noticed he always fumbles and drops his money when he pays for his drinks? He’s certainly quite incapable of doing any sleight-of-hand stuff with prussic acid.”

Alleyn looked at Fox. “That answers your question,” he said.

“What question?” asked Cubitt. “Or aren’t we supposed to know?”

“Fox wondered if Mr. Legge could be an expert at legerdemain,” said Alleyn.

“Well, you never know. That’s not impossible,” said Parish. “He might be.”

“I’ll stake my oath he’s not,” said Cubitt. “He’s no more likely to have done it than you are—”

Cubitt caught his breath and, for the first time, looked profoundly uncomfortable.

“Which is absurd,” he added.

Parish turned on Cubitt. His poise had gone and for a moment he looked as though he both hated Cubitt and was afraid of him.

“You seem very sure of yourself, Norman,” he said. “Apparently my opinion is of no value. I won’t waste any more of Mr. Alleyn’s time.”

“My dear old Seb—” Cubitt began.

Alleyn said: “Please, Mr. Parish! I’m sure all this business of questions that seem to have neither rhyme nor reason is tedious and exasperating to a degree. But you may be sure that we shall go as carefully as we go slowly. If there is any link between this man and your cousin I think I may promise you that we shall discover it.”

“I suppose so,” said Parish, not very readily. “I’m sorry if I’m unreasonable, but this thing has hit me pretty hard.”

“Oh dear,” thought Alleyn; “he will speak by the book!” And aloud he said: “Of course it has. I’ve nearly done for the moment. There are one or two more points. I think you looked at the new darts before they were handed to Mr. Legge.”

Parish froze at that. He stood there on the dappled hearthrug and stared at Alleyn. He looked like a frightened schoolboy.

“I only picked them up and looked at them,” he said. “Anyone will tell you that.” And then with a sudden spurt of temper: “Damnation, you’ll be saying I killed my cousin, next!”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” said Alleyn peacefully. “I was going to ask you to tell me who handled the darts before and after you did.”

Parish opened his mouth and shut it again. When he did speak it was with a kind of impotent fury.

“If you’d said at first — you’ve got me all flustered.”

Cubitt said: “I think I can tell you that, Alleyn. Abel unpacked the darts and laid them on the counter. Parish simply picked two or perhaps three of them up and poised them. That’s right, isn’t it, Seb?”

“I don’t know,” said Parish sullenly. “Have it your own way. I don’t know. Why should I remember?”

“No reason in the world,” said Alleyn cheerfully.

“Well,” said Cubitt, “Sebastian put them down and Will Pomeroy took them up. I remember that Will turned away and held them nearer the light. He said something about the way they were made, with the weight in the brass point and not in a lead band. He said that the card flights were better than feathers. Abel fitted the darts with card flights.” Cubitt hesitated and then added: “I don’t suppose it’s relevant but I’m prepared to say, definitely, that Parish did nothing more than pick them up and put them down.”

“Thank you, Norman,” said Parish. “Is that all, Mr. Alleyn?”

“My last question for the moment — did you see Miss Moore pour out the brandy for Mr. Watchman?”

Dead silence. And then Parish, wrinkling his forehead, looking half-peevish, half-frightened, said: “I didn’t watch her, but you needn’t go on probing into all that. Decima Moore had nothing to do with—”