“Nonsense,” said Alleyn.

“Nonsense!” echoed Legge, in a sort of fury. He shook his finger in Alleyn’s face. “Don’t you talk like that to me, sir. Do you know who I am? Do you know that before my misfortune I was the greatest power in English finance? Let me tell you that there are only three men living who fully comprehended the events that brought about the holocaust of ’29 and ’30, and I am one of them. If I had not put my trust in titled imbeciles, if I had not been betrayed by a sulking moron, I should be in a position to send for you when I wished to command your dubious services, or dismiss them with a contemptuous fiddle-de-dee.”

This astonishing and ridiculous word was delivered with such venom that Alleyn was quite taken aback. Into his thoughts, with the appropriate logic of topsyturvy, popped the memory of a jigging line —

He pulled himself together, cautioned and tackled Mr. Legge, and at last got a statement from him. He had spent the afternoon packing his books, papers, and effects, and putting them in his car. He had intended to take the first load into his new room that evening. He had also written some letters. He offered, frantically, to show Alleyn the letters. Alleyn had already seen them and they amounted to nothing. He turned Legge over to Oates, whose nose was now plugged with cotton-wool.

“You’d better take him to the station,” said Alleyn.

“I demand bail,” cried Legge in a trembling voice.

“Mr. Harper will see about that,” said Alleyn. “You’re under arrest for a misdemeanour.”

“I didn’t kill him. I know what you’re up to. It’s the beginning of the end. I swear—”

“You are under arrest for assaulting police officers,” said Alleyn, wearily. “I will repeat the caution you have already heard.”

He repeated it and was devoutly thankful when Legge, in a condition of hysterical prostration, was led away. Harper, with Oates and his mate, was to drive him to Illington and lodge him in the police station.

“The Colonel’s at the station,” said Harper acidly. “That was him on the telephone while you were upstairs. His car’s broken down again. Why, in his position and with all his money, he doesn’t — oh well! He wants me to bring him back here, or you to come in. Which it’ll be? The man’ll talk us all dotty, wherever he is.”

“I’ll have another look at Fox,” said Alleyn. “If he’s awake, I’ll get him into bed and then follow you into Illington. I’d like the doctor to see him again.”

“There’ll be no need for that, sir, thank you.”

Alleyn spun round on his heel to see Fox, fully dressed and wearing his bowler hat, standing in the doorway.

Chapter XIX

The Chief Constable as Watson

i

“I’ve reported for duty, if you please, Mr. Alleyn,” said Fox.

“You unspeakable old ninny,” said Alleyn, “go back to bed.”

“With all respect, sir, I’d rather not. I’ve had a very pleasant nap and am quite myself again. So if you’ll allow me—”

“Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn, “are we to have a row?”

“I hope not, sir, I’m sure,” said Fox tranquilly. “Six years, I think it is now, and never a moment’s unpleasantness, thanks to your tact and consideration.”

“Damn you, go to bed.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather—”

“Mr. Fox,” Alleyn began very loudly and stopped short. They stared at each other. Harper coughed and moved to the door. Alleyn swore violently, seized Fox by the arm, and shoved him into an armchair. He then knelt on the harlequin rug and lit the fire.

“I’d be obliged, Nick,” said Alleyn over his shoulder, “if you’d bring Colonel Brammington here. Would you explain that circumstances over which I appear to have no control oblige me to remain at the Plume of Feathers.”

“I’m quite able to drive—” Fox began.

“You shut up,” said Alleyn warmly.

Harper went out.

“Offences against discipline,” said Alleyn, “are set forth in the Police Regulations under seventeen headings, including neglect of duty and disobedience to orders, together with a general heading covering discreditable conduct.” He looked up from the fire. “Discreditable conduct,” he repeated.

Fox was shaken up with soundless subterranean chuckles.

“I’m going into the tap-room,” said Alleyn. “If you move out of that chair I’ll damn well serve you with a Misconduct Form. See Regulation 13.”

“I’ll get the Super in as my witness, sir,” said Fox. “See Regulation 17.” And at this pointless witticism he went off into an ecstasy of apoplectic mirth.

Alleyn returned to the tap-room, where Oates still kept guard. Miss Darragh was knitting in the inglenook, Parish stood near the shuttered windows, Cubitt was drawing in the battered sketch-book he always carried in his pocket. Abel glowered in a corner. Mr. Nark wore the expression of one who had been made to feel unpopular.

Alleyn said: “You may open up again if you wish, Mr. Pomeroy. I’m sorry to have kept you all so long. Until you and your rooms had been searched, we had no alternative. To-morrow, you will be asked to sign the statements you have made to Mr. Harper. In the meantime, if you wish, you may go to your rooms. You will not be allowed to leave the premises until further orders. Mr. Nark may go home.”

From the stairs came the sound of heavy steps. Harper and the second constable came down with Legge between them. Alleyn had left the tap-room door open. Six pairs of eyes turned to watch Legge go out

Miss Darragh suddenly called out: “Cheer up, now. It’s nothing at all, man. I’ll go bail for you.”

Will started forward.

“I want to speak to him.”

“Certainly,” said Alleyn.

“I’m sorry it has turned out this way, mate,” said Will, “damned injustice and nothing less. It won’t make any difference with the Party. You know that. We’ll stick by you. Wish I’d bloodied t’other nose and gone to clink along with you.”

“They’ve got a down on me,” said Legge desolately.

“I know that. Good luck!”

“Come along, now,” said Harper. “Get a move on. Ready, Oates?”

Oates went out to them and Alleyn shut the door.

“Well,” said Parish. “I call that a step in the right direction, Mr. Alleyn.”

“For God’s sake, Seb, hold your tongue,” said Cubitt.

“What d’you mean by that, Mr. Parish?” demanded Will. “You’d better be careful what you’re saying, hadn’t you?”

“That’s no way to speak, sonny,” said Abel.

“While I’ve a tongue in my head—” began Will.

“You’ll set a guard on it, I hope,” said Alleyn. “Good night, gentlemen.”

They filed out one by one. Parish was the only one who spoke. With his actor’s instinct for an efficient exit, he turned in the doorway.

“I imagine,” he said, looking steadily at Alleyn, “that I shan’t be run in for contempt, if I venture to suggest that this gentleman’s departure marks the beginning of the end.”

“Oh, no,” said Alleyn politely. “We shan’t run you in for that, Mr. Parish.”

Parish gave a light laugh and followed the others upstairs.

Only Miss Darragh remained. She put her knitting into a large chintz bag, took off her spectacles and looked steadily at Alleyn.

“I suppose you had to take that poor fellow in charge,” she said. “He behaved very foolishly. But he’s a mass of nerves, you know. It’s a doctor he’s needing, not a policeman.”

“Who? Mr. Montague Thringle?” asked Alleyn vaguely.

“So the cat’s out of the bag, is ut?” said Miss Darragh placidly. “Ah, well, I suppose ’twas bound to be. I’ve kept my end of the bargain.”

“I’d very much like to know what it was,” said Alleyn.

“Didn’t you guess?”

“I wondered if by chance Lord Bryonie’s family had promised to keep an eye on Mr. Thringle.”