“None of the guests has got a motive, though,” said Wade with a certain air of desperate reluctance.
“Not so far as we know. One might advance something rather fantastic. Young Palmer, mad for love, for instance. Far-fetched.”
“Well then—”
“And Gascoigne. He didn’t go to the dressing-rooms. He was on the stage. Have you dwelt on Gascoigne, Wade?”
“Thrashed him to death. We can’t get it down to what you might call a cast-iron alibi, sir, because he was mucking round on the stage here, but the hands say he never went off the set and we’ve found out he was there to welcome each of the guests as they came. No motive, far as we know.”
“And he would have no occasion to use this door.”
“This ‘in again, out again, gone again’ stuff with the door. Is it probable do you think, Mr. Alleyn? Is it possible?”
“Let’s consider. Take any one of the guests — young Palmer or Dr. Te Pokiha, for instance.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
“Young Palmer comes to the party, passes Singleton, gives his name, and instead of joining the party on the stage, slips round to the back and up the ladder. He takes off the weight, comes down, lets himself out by this door, shins round to the front, comes in again and joins the party.”
“I’m sure Singleton would have noticed it, Mr. Alleyn. You see, Mason had warned him about gatecrashing. He was on the look-out. He had the list of guests and he ticked each one off.”
“Yes, that’s the great objection,” agreed Alleyn. “Still, I’d ask him.”
“Certainly, we’ll ask him. The other objection is that the deceased was a stranger here, and most of the guests wouldn’t have the ghost of a motive. What about Mason, now? Could he have done this door business, after he went in with you?”
“Unfortunately, I know he couldn’t,” said Alleyn, “He came on to the stage with me and we were together until he went to fetch Miss Dacres.”
“Anyway, sir. Think of the risk a man would run, tearing round the block in his evening duds. It’d look pretty crook if anyone saw him, now, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t think he would tear round the block, Wade.”
“What’s that?”
“Why not follow the Palmer route, in reverse, and come out in the yard?”
“By cripey, yes. Yes, that’s so. But he’d have to know about the path behind the sheds, wouldn’t he? Which young Palmer seems to have done, seeing the way he took to it afterwards. Is there anything in this business of young Palmer, do you reckon?”
“Not a damn’ thing, I should say.”
“Aw Geeze!” said Wade disgustedly. “What a case! It’s all cockeyed. Did you ever hear anything like this business of Miss Dacres! Owning up she fixed that weight to protect a man that, as far as we can see, couldn’t have done it.”
“At least she’s saved us the trouble of accounting for everybody’s movements after the murder.”
“She’s in a nasty hole. Messing about on the scene of the crime,” muttered Wade. “She’s going to find herself in a very, very uncomfortable little pozzy, is Miss Caroline Dacres Meyer, widow of deceased.”
“I hope not,” said Alleyn. “I may even try to corrupt the New Zealand force on her behalf. You never know.”
Wade looked doubtfully at him, decided he was attempting to amuse, and broke out into a guffaw.
“Aw dikkon, Mr. Alleyn!” said Wade.
“What did you say?”
“Haven’t you heard that one, sir? I suppose it’s N.Z. digger slang. ‘Dikkon.’ It’s the same as if you’d say ‘Come off it.’ Hangover from the first world war, they reckon.”
“On Gallipoli? You were in the second show, were you, Wade?”
“Too right. Saw it through from start to finish.”
“What ages ago it seems. And is.”
Passing Sergeant Packer, who was on duty at the stage-door, they strolled back to the office, talking returned soldier’s shop.
“What do you think, Mr. Alleyn? If there’s another war will the young chaps come at it, same as we did, thinking it’s great? And get the same jolt? What do you reckon?”
“I’m afraid to speculate,” said Alleyn.
“Same here. And yet you know I often think: well, it was bloody but it wasn’t too bad. As long as you didn’t think too much it wasn’t too bad. There was a kind of feeling among the chaps that was all right. Know what I mean?”
“I do. One has to take that into account. The pacifists won’t succeed until they do. You can’t overstate the stupidity and squalid frightfulness, but equally you must recognise that there was a sort of — what? — a sort of emotional compensation; comradeship, I suppose, though it’s an ill-used word.”
“I often wonder if crooks feel the same.”
“That’s a thought.”
“Know what I mean?” continued Wade, encouraged. “As if they kind of forgot they were crooks and anti-social, and got a kick out of being all together on the same old game.”
“I should think it was quite likely. All the same they’re a hopeless lot — the rank and file. Not much honour among thieves in my experience. Don’t you agree? That’s why homicide cases are specialised work, Wade. We’re not dealing with the class we’ve been trained to understand.”
“Too right. Look at this case, now.”
“Yes. Look at the damn’ thing. We’re wandering, Wade. We’ll have to get back to business. Come into the office and look at this plan. Have a cigarette.”
“Thanks, I don’t mind,” said Wade, taking one. They went into the office, more than ever subfusc in the late afternoon light, with dust already lying thick on Alfred Meyer’s old desk, and last night’s fire dead in the grate. Wade switched on the lamp and Alleyn walked over to the plan on the wall.
“Taking another look at the old lay-out, Mr. Alleyn?”
“Yes. I’ve got together a sort of theory about the case,” said Alleyn, with his usual air of diffidence. “If I may, I’ll go over it with you. It’s the result of this rather wholesale elimination of suspects. You’ll probably find a gap in it as wide as a church door. I’d be not altogether sorry if you did.”
“Well, sir, let’s have it.”
“Right you are. It begins about five minutes after the final curtain last night.”
Wade glanced up at Alleyn who still stood with his hands in his pockets contemplating the plan.
“How about taking the easy chair, sir?” asked Wade. “You’ll be seeing that thing in your sleep.”
“I dare say I shall. You see my whole theory is based on this plan. Come over here and I’ll tell you why.”
Wade got up and joined him. Alleyn pointed a long finger at the plan and began to explain.
Chapter XXII
FOURTH APPEARANCE OF THE TIKI
When Alleyn got back to the hotel he found Dr. Te Pokiha waiting for him.
“Had you forgotten that you were to dine with me this evening, Mr. Alleyn?”
“My dear Te Pokiha, no, I hadn’t forgotten, but I had no idea it was so late. Please forgive me. I do hope you haven’t been waiting very long.”
“I’ve only just arrived. Don’t worry, we’ve plenty of time.”
“Then if I may rush up and change—?”
“If you want to. Not a dinner-jacket, please. We shall be alone.”
“Right. I shan’t be five minutes.”
He was as good as his word. They had a cocktail together and then took the road in Te Pokiha’s car.
“We take the north-east road towards Mount Ruapehu,” said Te Pokiha. “I expect you are tired of hearing about our mountains and thermal districts. I am afraid New Zealanders are too eager to thrust these wonders at visitors, and to demand admiration.”
“I should like very much indeed to hear a Maori speak of them.”