CHAPTER VI
Into the Small Hours
Nigel took down every word of Alleyn’s little speech with the liveliest enthusiasm. At the conclusion he wrote in brackets: “Noise of theatre magnate sitting down.” In a moment he was busy again. Alleyn had concentrated on Miss Janet Emerald.
“Do you mind if I light my pipe, Miss Emerald? Thank you. Oh — cigarette? Those are Turks and those are — but I expect you know that one.”
“No, thank you.”
A match scraped, and Alleyn spoke between sucks at his pipe.
“Well, now. Will you tell me, as far as you know, how the business of loading the revolver was managed?” (“But he knows all that,” thought Nigel impatiently.)
“I–I know nothing about it — I had nothing to do with it,” said Janet Emerald.
“Of course not. But perhaps you noticed who put the blank cartridges in the drawer, and when.”
“I didn’t notice at all — anything about the cartridges.”
“Did you never see them put in the drawer?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Really? You didn’t concern yourself about whether they were there, or say to Mr. Simpson that you were terrified he would forget them?”
“I couldn’t have done so. What makes you think I said anything of the sort? Jacco! I don’t know what I’m saying. Please — please, can’t I go?”
“Don’t move, Mr. Saint, I shall soon be done. Now, Miss Emerald, please answer my questions as best you can and as simply as you can. Believe me, an innocent person has nothing to fear and everything to gain in telling the truth. You are not the silly, bewildered little thing you pretend to be. You are a large and, I should say, very intelligent woman.”
“Jacco!”
“And I suggest that you behave like one. Now, please — did you or did you not notice Mr. Simpson placing the cartridges to-night, and did you, or did you not, remark that you were afraid he’d forget to do so?”
“No, no, no — it’s all a lie.”
“And did you afterwards go and stand with your hands on the desk?”
“Never — I was talking to Arthur — I didn’t notice what George Simpson was doing — he’s telling lies. If that’s what he says, he’s lying.”
“What were you saying to Mr. Surbonadier? It must have been of some interest to absorb all your attention.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Really?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember.”
“Thank you. Fox, ask Miss Susan Max if she’ll be good enough to come here.”
“That mean we can go?” Saint’s voice made Nigel jump — he had forgotten the proprietor of the Unicorn.
“In a minute. The night is young. How impatient you are, to be sure.”
“What sort of a breed are you?” asked Saint suddenly. “Gentleman ’tec, or the comedian of the Yard, or what?”
“My dear Mr. Saint, you make me feel quite shy.”
“Ow yow — yow — yow,” Saint echoed the inspector’s pleasant voice with the exasperated facetiousness of a street urchin. “All Oxford and Cambridge and hot air,” he added savagely.
“Only Oxford, and that’s nothing nowadays,” said Alleyn apologetically. “Oh, here you are, Miss Max.” His voice was cordial, “I can’t tell you how bad I feel about giving you all this trouble.” Miss Max had waddled into Nigel’s line of sight.
“Never you mind,” she said comfortably. “You’re only doing your job, I suppose.”
“Miss Max, if only everyone felt like that a policeman’s lot would be a happier one.”
“I played Ruth in Pirates on the Australian circuit,” said Miss Max, letting herself down into the chair the inspector had pushed forward.
“Did you really? Do you remember the trio about the paradox? Frederick, Ruth, and Pirate King?”
“Indeed I do.
“ ‘A paradox,
A paradox,
A most ingenious paradox,’ ”
sang Miss Max in a jolly wheeze.
“Susan!” wailed Miss Emerald. “How can you?”
“Why not, dear? It’s a lovely number.”
“There’s something of a paradox here,” said Alleyn, “that you can solve for us.”
“And you’re the policeman.”
“Yes — would you call me ‘Frederick’ and may I call you ‘Ruth’?”
“Get along with you!” said old Susan Max.
“Well, here it is. Perhaps I won’t tell you the paradox; but ask you a question and hope that your answer will explain it. Can you tell me just what happened on the stage before the curtain went up on the last act?”
“Susan,” began Janet Emerald. “You remember—”
“Please!” (Alleyn made Nigel jump.) “Now, Miss Max.”
“Well, let me think. I was sitting on the O. P. kniting my scarf and scolding George Simpson about that mat. ‘George,’ I said, ‘do you want me to break my neck?’ So he fixed it. Little things like that look so bad from the front, and it quite spoilt my eggzit at the end of that scene.”
“I enjoyed your reading of the part enormously.”
“Well, dear, I made it a type, you know.”
“Is this a cosy chat or a statement?” inquired Saint.
“It’s a dialogue between two people only,” answered Alleyn. “It’s a great thing to be able to study types, Miss Max — I have to do a bit of that myself.”
“It’s all observation,” said Miss Max in a gratified tone.
“Of course it is. You’ve learnt to observe. You can be of the greatest help to me. Now, can you tell me, Miss Max, exactly what happened after Mr. Simpson put the mat straight?”
“Now, let me think,” said Susan Max. There was a dead silence. Miss Emerald gave a sob.
“Yes,” said Susan suddenly. “Janet was upset and talking to poor Arthur, who was a little pizzicato.”
“Pizzicato?”
“A little too much wine taken. Pity. Well, they whispered together and then he said to her — No. I’m telling stories. She said to him: ‘Are you all right?’; and he said to her: ‘No, I’m all blanky wrong,’ using language as he did so. I didn’t hear the next bit, but presently he said in an extremely disagreeable manner: ‘You can’t talk about influence, Janet. You wouldn’t be where you are without it.’ More whispers. I didn’t listen. I measured my scarf round George Simpson’s neck. Then when he went off to the prompt corner — No, I’ve left out a bit. Wait. Before that, when George put the cartridges in the drawer, Janet said she was always afraid he’d forget them — do you remember, dear? And then after all the other bit about poor Arthur being drunk and influence and so forth, you followed over to the prompt corner and I recollect that you had another whisper with him— with George Simpson, I mean, of course. There you are!” Miss Max ended with a sort of triumphant gaiety.
“Bravo!” cried Alleyn. “Top marks. We shall have to get you into the force.”
“Oh, yes, I dare say. Well, now. Is that all? Can I go?”
“I shall be sorry to lose you.”
Nigel had waited for an outburst from Miss Emerald — a denial, an explanation, another bout of hysteria. Instead there was dead silence. He wished he could see Janet Emerald and Jacob Saint.
“It’s a shocking thing,” said Susan Max abruptly. “It’s a very shocking thing for a young man to die as Arthur Surbonadier died. Not himself. Angry. For he was angry, you know.”
“What about?”
“All sorts of things. Not satisfied with the casting. Unhappy over other matters too, I believe. I suppose it’s murder?”