“You’re sure of that, sir?”
“Of course I’m sure. Damn it, I took the thing to bits when I was in the ballroom.”
Fox raised his head and stared at Lord Pastern with a sort of incredulous satisfaction. Edward Manx swore under his breath, the women were rigidly horrified.
“I see,” Alleyn said. “When was this?”
“After dinner. Breezy was with me. Weren’t you, Breezy?” Breezy shied violently and then nodded.
“Where did you leave the bits, sir?”
“On the piano. Last I saw of ’em.”
“Why,” Alleyn asked, “did you dismember the parasol?”
“For fun.”
“Mon dieu, mon dieu,” Lady Pastern moaned.
“I knew it’d unscrew and I unscrewed it.”
“Thank you,” Alleyn said. “For the benefit of those of you who haven’t examined the parasol closely, I’d better describe it a little more fully. Both ends of this piece of shaft are threaded, one on the outer surface to engage with the top section, the other on the inner surface to receive the main shaft of the parasol. It has been removed and the outer sections screwed together. Now look again at this weapon made from the section that has been removed. You will see that a steel tool has been introduced into this end and sunk in plastic wood. Do any of you recognize this tool? I’ll hold it a little closer. It’s encrusted with blood and a little difficult to see.”
He saw Carlisle’s fingers move on the arms of her chair. He saw Breezy rub the back of his hand across his mouth and Lord Pastern blow out his cheeks. “Rather unusual,” he said, “isn’t it? Wide at the base and tapering. Keen pointed. It might be an embroidery stiletto. I don’t know. Do you recognize it, Lady Pastern?”
“No.”
“Anybody?” Lord Pastern opened his mouth and shut it again. “Well,” Alleyn murmured after a pause. He replaced the box containing the weapon and took up Lord Pastern’s revolver. He turned it over in his hands.
“If that’s the way you chaps go to work,” said Lord Pastern, “I don’t think much of it. That thing may be smothered with finger-prints, for all you know, and you go pawin’ it about.”
“It’s been printed,” Alleyn said without emphasis. He produced a pocket lens and squinted through it down the barrel. “You seem to have given it some rough usage,” he said.
“No, I haven’t,” Lord Pastern countered instantly. “Perfect condition. Always has been.”
“When did you last look down the barrel, sir?”
“Before we came here. In my study, and again in the ballroom. Why?”
“George,” said Lady Pastern. “I suggest for the last time that you send for your solicitor and refuse to answer any questions until he is here.”
“Yes, Cousin George,” Edward murmured. “I honestly think…”
“My solicitor,” Lord Pastern rejoined, “is a snufflin’ old ass. I’m perfectly well able to look after myself, C. What’s all this about my gun?”
“The barrel,” Alleyn said, “is, of course, fouled. That’s from the blank rounds. But under the stain left by the discharges there are some curious marks. Irregular scratches, they seem to be. We’ll have it photographed but I wonder if in the meantime you can offer an explanation?”
“Here,” Lord Pattern ejaculated. “Let me see.”
Alleyn gave him the revolver and lens. Grimacing hideously he pointed the barrel to the light and squinted down it. He made angry noises and little puffing sounds through his lips. He examined the butt through the lens and muttered indistinguishable anathemas. Most unexpectedly, he giggled. Finally he dumped it on the table and blew loudly. “Hanky-panky,” he said briefly and returned to his chair.
“I beg your pardon?”
“When I examined the gun in my study,” Lord Pastern said forcibly, “it was as clean as a whistle. As clean, I repeat, as a whistle. I fired one blank from it in my own house and looked down the barrel afterwards. It was a bit fouled and that was all. All right. There y’are!”
Carlisle, Félicité, Manx and Lady Pastern stirred uneasily. “Uncle George,” Carlisle said. “Please.”
Lord Pastern glared at her. “Therefore,” he said, “I repeat, hanky-panky. The barrel was unmarked when I brought the thing here. I ought to know. It was unmarked when I took it into the restaurant.”
Lady Pastern looked steadily at her husband. “You fool, George,” she said.
“George.”
“Cousin George.”
“Uncle George…”
The shocked voices overlapped and faded out.
Alleyn began again. “Obviously you realize the significance of all this. When I tell you that the weapon — it is, in effect, a dart or bolt, isn’t it? — is half an inch shorter than the barrel of the revolver and somewhat less in diameter…”
“All right, all right,” Lord Pastern interjected.
“I think,” said Alleyn, “I should point out…”
“You needn’t point anything out. And you,” Lord Pastern added, turning on his relatives, “can all shut up. I know what you’re gettin’ at. The barrel was unscratched. By God, I ought to know. And what’s more, I noticed when Breezy and I were in the ballroom that this bit of shaft would fit in the barrel. I pointed it out to him.”
“Here, here, here!” Breezy expostulated. “I don’t like the way this is going. Look here — ”
“Did anyone else examine the revolver?” Alleyn interposed adroitly.
Lord Pastern pointed at Skelton. “He did,” he said. “Ask him.”
Skelton moved forward, wetting his lips.
“Did you look down the barrel?” Alleyn asked.
“Glanced,” said Skelton reluctantly.
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
“No.”
“Was the barrel quite unscarred?”
There was a long silence. “Yes,” said Skelton at last.
“There y’are,” said Lord Pastern.
“It would be,” Skelton added brutally, “seeing his lordship hadn’t put his funny weapon in it yet.”
Lord Pastern uttered a short, rude and incredulous word. “Thanks,” said Skelton and turned to Alleyn.
Edward Manx said: “May I butt in, Alleyn?”
“Of course.”
“It’s obvious that you think this thing was fired from the revolver. It’s obvious, in my opinion, that you are right. How else could he have been killed? But isn’t it equally obvious that the person who used the revolver could have known nothing about it? If he had wanted to shoot Rivera he could have used a bullet. If, for some extraordinary reason, he preferred a sort of rifle grenade or dart or what-not, he would surely have used something less fantastic than the affair you have just shown us. The only object in using the piece of parasol shaft, if it has in fact been so used, would have been this: the spring catch — which is jewelled, by the way — would keep the weapon fixed in the barrel and it wouldn’t fall out if the revolver was pointed downwards, and the person who fired the revolver would therefore be unaware of the weapon in the barrel. You wouldn’t,” Edward said with great energy, “fix up an elaborate sort of thing like this unless there was a reason for it and there would be no reason if you yourself had full control of the revolver and could load it at the last moment. Only an abnormally eccentric…” He stopped short, floundered for a moment and then said: “That’s the point I wanted to make.”
“It’s well taken,” Alleyn said. “Thank you.”
“Hi!” said Lord Pastern.
Alleyn turned to him.
“Look here,” he said. “You think these scratches were made by the jewels on that spring thing. Skelton says they weren’t there when he looked at the gun. If anyone was fool enough to try and shoot a feller with a thing like this, he’d fire it off first of all to see how it worked. In private. Follow me?”