“Unless he’s fixing an alibi for her, or for Hambledon.”
“We’ll have to check his statement, of course. But if all these people remember talking to him it’ll be good enough. Personally, I was favourably impressed with him.”
Wade stared solemnly at Alleyn and then swore violently.
“Good heavens, Wade, what’s the matter?”
“Here!” said Wade. “If all he said is right, it— Look here, Mr. Alleyn, don’t you see what it means?”
“Oh, rather, yes. It washes out the whole bang lot of ’em at one fell swoop. Tiresome for you. Unless of course the little window—”
“We’ll go right along and have a look at the little window. By gosh, talk about eliminating! This is a bit too sudden. What about Liversidge?”
“Bang he goes,” said Alleyn.
“Liversidge — with everything pointing that way!
“Not only that. Liversidge, Broadhead, the wife and Hambledon. Mason tied up with enough alibis to blow holes in a cast-iron case! Come on, sir. Come on. We’ll have a damn’ good look at this little window.
Chapter XXI
BUSINESS WITH PROPS
But the little window at the back of the dressing-room passage turned out to be exactly as Bob had described it — dirty and gummed up with cobwebs — and Wade turned to Alleyn with an air of disgruntled incredulity.
“It’s a case of ‘where do we go for honey,’ isn’t it, Wade?” asked Alleyn smiling.
“I’ll see this Bob Parsons as soon as we get out of this,” said Wade. “If anyone’s squared him I’ll shake it out of him if I have to go at it all night.”
“It’s possible, of course,” agreed Alleyn, “but look at it for a minute. Suppose Liversidge is the murderer. Liversidge plans to take off the weight. Instead of slipping round, unseen, to the back ladder after the last curtain, which would have been comparatively easy, he goes first to his dressing-room, knowing that he must come out again almost immediately into the brightly-lit narrow passage, where any of the others may be hanging about. Well, he risks that and comes out to find Parsons directly in his way. He knows that Parsons will see him go up to the back of the stage — knows, in short, that he is a man who can hang him. He decides to risk all this on the chance of bribing or corrupting the man. Do you think he’d do it? I don’t. And the same argument applies to Miss Dacres. To all the rest of the cast for that matter. I think when you see Parsons you will agree that he is not a corruptible type. Check his statement by all means, my dear chap, but I feel certain he is speaking the truth. And now let us have a look at the back of the theatre.”
“The back of the theatre, sir?”
“Yes. When I chased round on the trail of Master Palmer, I thought of something that may be of interest. Come across the stage, will you?”
He led the way out of the dressing-room passage to the stage. They had turned on the working-lights, two desolate yellow bulbs up in the dusty proscenium, that cast a little dreary light on the tops of the box-set. Nothing had been moved. The door into the set stood open and through it they could see the white cloth, the chairs pushed back from the table, curiously eloquent, the huddle of broken glass and dead flowers, and the enormous bottle lying on the table.
“That can all be cleared away,” said Wade. “We’ve gone over every inch of it to-day.”
“Come round behind the set,” said Alleyn.
They groped their way round. The stage smelt of old glue and dead paint. Alleyn switched on his torch and led Wade to the back wall.
“Here’s the back ladder up to the grid. That, I feel sure, is the one that was used. Have you tried it for prints?”
“Yes. It’s a fair muck of prints — so far, nothing that’s any good to us. The stage-hands used it over and over again.”
“Of course. Well now, see here.”
In the back wall, a little to the left of the ladder, was a door.
“We noticed this on the plan,” said Alleyn, “and discussed it as a possible entrance for — say Mason.”
“That’s right, sir. But it won’t wash as far as he is concerned. If Mason had gone through the audience, out at the front, and round the block, he’d have had to come in here. He would have to go aloft, do the job, come down, and sprint round the block again.”
“Ten minutes at the very least and the risk of being seen running like a madman by any number of people on the pavement outside,” said Alleyn. “No. That cat won’t jump. I saw the door last night when your P.C. was so suspicious of my movements. Have you got a torch? Let’s have a good look at it.”
By the light of both their torches they inspected the door.
“Yale lock, with the key inside,” said Alleyn.
“We noted this door last night, Mr. Alleyn. It wasn’t overlooked.”
“My dear chap, I’m sure it wasn’t. What did you make of it?”
“Well, seeing it was locked on the inside it doesn’t look as though anyone could have used it for an entrance. And seeing that there’s no exit from the dressing-rooms except to the stage, none of them could have used it for a getaway.”
“None of the cast, no.”
“You’re still thinking of Mason. It’s no go, sir. I wish to hell I could say otherwise, but it’s no go. We’ve thrashed it over — every minute of it — every second of it. He was in the office at the end of the show, and was seen there by the men from the box-office. He ran along to the stage-door and gave old Singleton — the doorkeeper — the message about not letting in uninvited people. Singleton watched him go back to the office and a minute or two later joined him there. Then Dr. Te Pokiha looked in. About two minutes later you overtook him yourself, on the way to the stage-door with the doctor.”
“Not with Dr. Te Pokiha. He was at the party when Mr. Mason and I got in.”
“Makes no odds, as far as Mason is concerned, sir.”
“That’s true. Have you tried this key for prints?”
“Can’t say we have.”
“It’s early days yet,” murmured Alleyn, “and you’ve had a lot of stuff to get through. I think if you don’t mind—”
He produced an insufflater and a packet of chalk from his overcoat pocket, and by the light of their torches, tested the key for prints.
“None. It’s as clean as a whistle.”
“That’s funny,” said Wade, reluctantly. “You’d have thought it would be used fairly frequently.”
“There’s no dust,” said Alleyn, “so presumably it has been wiped clean.”
Wade muttered something under his breath. Alleyn turned the key and opened the door. Outside was a dingy strip of yard, and a low tin fence with a rickety gate.
“This is where I came out on my chase after Master Palmer,” explained Alleyn. “I met the P.C. in the street there. This door moves very sweetly.”
He flashed his torch on the hinges.
“Nicely oiled. Commendable attention to detail on the part of the staff — what?”
“Look here, Mr. Alleyn, what are you getting at?”
“I think we should concentrate on this door, Wade. When we’ve done here, we’ll go and have a look at the plan in the office and I shall propound my unlikely theory.”
He squatted on his heels and peered at the threshold.
“Not much chance here. Fine night and all that. I think it might be profitable to find out who oiled the hinges. Could you try? And the doorkeeper — Singleton is it? I suppose none of the guests went in twice? No, not Mason — anyone else.”
“Went in twice?”
“Yes. In at the stage-door. Out by this one. In again at the stage-door. Nothing in it, I dare say.”