Mr. Sage gazed at Nigel in silence for some moments. At last he drew in his breath and said: “No, thanks. Aye’m quate O.K.”
“But you’ve gone pale. It was an awful bump you came. Sit down for a moment.”
“Thanks,” he said, and sank into a chair. “Dear me, that was a very silly thing to do.”
“Very painful, I should say,” remarked Nigel solemnly.
Suddenly Angela began to laugh.
“Oh,” she said, “I’m awfully sorry. It’s just horrid of me, but I can’t help it.”
“Really, An — Pippin!” scolded Nigel.
“The instinct to laugh at bodily injury,” said Mr. Sage, who had recovered his colour, “is a very old one. Possibly it goes back to the snarl of the animal about to engage an adversary. You can’t help yourself.”
“It’s nice of you to take it like that,” said Angela through her tears. “It was rather a funny introduction.”
“Yes.”
“I’d better explain,” continued Angela. Nigel, who had regarded the upsetting of Mr. Sage as a dispensation of Providence, listened in horror. “We come from Clearminster-Storton in Dorset, near the holy ancestral home of the O’Callaghan. We’ve no time for the others and let it be known frankly. But she’s different, isn’t she, Claude?”
“Quite different.”
“Yes. We’ve seen her in London and tried to make her look at things in the enlightened way, and although she’s hidebound by the tradition of her class, she doesn’t refuse to listen. She told us about you, Mr. Sage. She thinks you’re awfully clever, doesn’t she, Claude?”
“That’s right,” said poor Nigel.
“So that is the way of it?” said Mr. Sage. “I, too, have attempted to make Miss O’Callaghan think, to open her eyes. She is a customer of mine and is interested in my work. I accept patronage from nobody, mind. She has not offered patronage, but comradeship. I don’t really know her well, and— ” He paused and then, looking straight at Nigel, he added: “To be frank with you, I have not seen much of her since O’Callaghan introduced his infamous Bill. I felt the situation would be too severe a strain on our friendship. We have never discussed her brother. She knows my views and would understand. Er — quite.”
“Oh, quite,” murmured Angela.
“Just so,” said Nigel.
“As a matter of fact,” continued Mr. Sage, “I must own I don’t go as far as Comrade Kakaroff in the matter of O’Callaghan’s death. Undoubtedly it is well he is gone. I realise that theoretically there is such a thing as justifiable extermination, but murder — as this may have been — no.”
“This was justifiable extermination,” said Nigel fiercely.
“Then it should have been done openly for the Cause.”
“No one fancies the rope.”
“Claude, you are awful. I agree with Mr. Sage.”
“Thank you Miss — er. Pardon, I’m afraid I don’t know— ”
“Pippin!” exclaimed Nigel suddenly. “We’re keeping our pal waiting. He’s hanging round outside the door there. Murder! It’s half-past one and we swore we’d meet those other chaps before then.”
“Ow, gracious, how awful!” said Angela. They grasped Mr. Sage’s hand, said hurriedly they hoped they’d meet again, and scuttled away.
The comrades had broken up into groups. Many of them had gone. Nigel and Angela saw Alleyn at the door with his gloomy friend. A short, well-dressed man followed them out, passed them, walked quickly to the outer door, and ran noisily down the iron stairs. Alleyn stood and stared after him. He and the truculent man exchanged a glance.
“Come on,” said Alleyn.
As they all walked out Nigel and Angela kept up a rather feverish conversation in their assumed voices. Alleyn was completely silent and so was his friend. Angela felt rather frightened. Did this man suspect them?
“I thought it was a perfectly marvellous meeting,” she said loudly as they walked down the empty street.
“Stimulating — that’s what it was, stimulating,” gushed Nigel.
The man grunted. Alleyn was silent.
“I was so pleased to meet Comrade Sage,” continued Angela with an air of the greatest enthusiasm.
“He’s all right,” conceded Nigel, “but I wouldn’t say he was quite sound.”
“You mean about O’Callaghan? Oh, I don’t know. What did you think about O’Callaghan, comrade?” Angela turned desperately to Alleyn.
“Oh, I’m all for bloodshed,” said Alleyn dryly. “Aren’t you, comrade?” He turned to his friend.
The man uttered a short sinister laugh. Angela took Nigel’s hand. “He was an ulcer,” she said confusedly, but with energy. “When we find an ulcer we — we—”
“Poultice it?” suggested Alleyn.
“We cut it out.”
“Paw ongcourager les autres,” said the man in diabolical French.
“Oh,” said Nigel, “not exactly that, comrade— er—?”
“Fox,” said Alleyn. “You’ve met before.”
“?!!”
“It’s all right, sir,” said Inspector Fox soothingly. “It’s the removal of my dentures that did it. Rather confusing. You were getting on very nicely. It was quite a treat to listen to you.”
“Stimulating — that’s what it was, stimulating,” added Alleyn.
“Inspector Alleyn,” said Angela furiously, “I’ll never forgive you for this — never.”
“Hist!” said Alleyn. “The very walls have ears.”
“Oh!” stormed Angela. “Oh! Oooo! Oh!”
“Murder!” said Nigel very quietly.
They walked on in silence until they came out by the river. A taxi drew up alongside them and they got in. Inspector Fox took a cardboard box from his pocket, turned delicately aside, and inserted his plates.
“Begging your pardon, miss,” he said, “but it’s pleasanter to have them.”
“And now,” said Alleyn, “just exactly what have you been up to?”
“I won’t tell you.”
“Won’t you, Miss Angela? That’s going to make it rather difficult.”
“Oh, come on, Angela,” said Nigel resignedly. “He’ll have to know. Let’s come clean.”
They came clean. The two policemen listened in silence.
“Yes,” said Alleyn when they had finished. “That’s all very interesting. It’s informative too. Let me get it straight. You say that when you quoted Miss O’Callaghan as your friend — a very dangerous trick, Miss Angela — Sage fell over backwards. Do you think he did this accidentally or deliberately? Do you think he got such a shock he overbalanced and crashed, or did you feel he used this painful ruse to distract your attention? Or were you both acting your socks off so enthusiastically that you did not notice?”
“Certainly not. At least— ”
“I think he got a shock,” said Nigel.
“Well, yes,” agreed Angela, “so do I. But he seemed more upset, oddly enough, afterwards, when he was lying there. His face went pea-green. Oh dear, he did look dreadfully funny.”
“No doubt. What did you say — did you say anything that would account for this diverting phenomenon?”
“I — no. Nigel said something. We both exclaimed, you know.”
“I grabbed hold of him and he fairly fought me off.”
“And then, you know, he got up and we asked if he was hurt and he said he was ‘quate O.K.’ and seemed to get better.”
“What was it you said, Bathgate?”
“I dunno. ‘Gosh!’ or ‘Help!’ or ‘Oh Fie!’ Something.”
“Subsequently he said that he did not altogether respond to Comrade Kakaroff’s wave of brotherly love for O’Callaghan’s murderer — that it?”
“He seemed to think that was going a bit far.”
“And yet”—Alleyn went on—“and yet I seem to remember that at the conclusion of Kakaroff’s jolly little talk, Comrade Sage leapt to his feet and yelled ‘Comrade.’ ”