“I’ll be able to sink back into sloth to-morrow.”
“As soon as that?”
“I hope so. Here we are at the hotel, I see. Well, thank you so much, Te Pokiha. It’s been an extremely interesting evening.”
“I’m afraid I’ve been of little use as far as your case is concerned.”
“On the contrary,” said Alleyn, “you have given me a piece of exceedingly valuable information.”
“Really? I mustn’t ask questions, I suppose. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Chapter XXIII
ALLEYN AS MASKELYNE
Alleyn slept heavily and dreamlessly until half-past nine. He had arranged to meet Wade at ten, and the inspector was waiting for him when he came out of the breakfast-room. They walked down to the theatre together.
“I’ve fixed it with old Singleton, Mr. Alleyn. He’ll be there waiting for us. He’s a funny old chap. Dismal Joe, the stage-hands call him; quite an old character in his way, he is, with a great gift of the gab. He says he’s an old actor and I believe it’s a fact, too.”
“Another actor! I remember giving him my name. He seemed rather a rum old article.”
“It’s a theatre show this, isn’t it, sir?”
They walked on in silence, and then Wade said:
“Well, Mr. Alleyn, I hope you’re quite satisfied with the work we’ve done for you.”
“My dear chap, more than satisfied. I’ve never had such a case. All the routine work done by you fellows, and damn’ well done. All I had to do was to pick out the plums.”
“Well sir, as far as we’re concerned it’s been a pleasure. We very much appreciate the way you’ve worked with us, Mr. Alleyn, taking us into your confidence all along. I must say when you rang up last night I got a bit of a surprise. I don’t say we wouldn’t have thrashed it out for ourselves and come to the right conclusion, but we wouldn’t have come there so quick.”
“I’m sure you’d have got there,” said Alleyn cordially. “You fixed up the other business all right, I suppose?”
“Yes. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble. Packer and Cass are there.”
Packer and Cass met them in the theatre yard. Standing just behind them was the doorkeeper to whom Alleyn remembered giving his name on the night of the party. Old Singleton was an extraordinary figure. He was very tall, very bent, and remarkably dirty. His nose was enormous and gloomily purple, he suffered from asthma, and he smelt of whisky.
“Morning, Packer, morning, Cass,” said Alleyn.
“This is Mr. Singleton, Chief Inspector,” said Wade.
“Chief Inspector who, Mr. Wade?” asked Singleton earnestly, in a rumbling wheeze.
“Alleyn.”
“Of New Scotland Yard, London?”
“Yes, Mr. Singleton,” said Alleyn good-humouredly.
“Shake, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Singleton, extending a particularly filthy hand. Alleyn shook it.
“From the Dear Old Town!” continued Mr. Singleton emotionally. “The Dear Old Town!”
“You are a Londoner, Mr. Singleton?”
“Holborn Empire! Ten years. I was first fiddle, sir.” Mr. Singleton went through an elaborate pantomime of drawing a bow across the strings of an imaginary violin. “You wouldn’t think it to look at me now,” he added truthfully. “I have fallen into the sere and yellow, Chief Inspector. I am declined into the vale of years. I am a fixed figure for the time of scorn to point his slow unmoving finger at. Yurrahumph!” He coughed unpleasantly and spat. “You would not credit it, Superintendent Alleyn, if I were to tell you I played the Moor for six months to capacity business.”
As Alleyn really could not credit it, he contented himself with making a consolatory noise.
“Shakespeare!” ejaculated Mr. Singleton, removing his hat. “The Swan of Stratford-on-Sea! The Bard!”
“Nobody like him, is there?” said Alleyn cheerfully. “Well, Mr. Singleton, you’re about to take the stage again. I want you to tell us all about last night.”
“Last night of all when that same star did entertain her guests. An improvisation, Chief Constable, based on the Bard. Last night. I could a tale unfold would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood. As a matter of fact I am unable to do any such thing. Last night I merely discharged my degrading duties as a doorkeeper in the house of the ungodly, and repaired to my lonely attic.”
He paused and blew his nose on an unspeakable handkerchief. Wade slipped behind him and gave a spirited imitation of someone draining a glass to the dregs.
“You kept a list of the guests, I understand, and checked off the names as they came in.”
Mr. Singleton drew a piece of paper from his bosom and handed it to Alleyn with a slight bow.
“To witness if I lie,“ he explained grandly.
It was the list. Alleyn glanced at it and returned to the job.
“Did Mr. Ackroyd come out some time before the party?”
“Ackroyd, Ackroyd, Ackroyd. Let me see, let me see, let me see. Ackroyd. The comedian. Yes! Ackroyd came out.”
“You did not mention this to Mr. Wade.”
“I take my stand on that document!” said Mr. Singleton magnificently.
“Quite so. How long was Mr. Ackroyd away?”
“He returned in the twinkling of an eye.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I am constant as the northern star,” said Mr. Singleton, stifling a slight hiccough. “Ackroyd eggzited and re-entered immediately. He went to the door of the office. He appeared to address those within. He returned.”
“You watched him?”
“With the very comment of my soul. Would it astonish you to learn that I played the Dane before—”
“Did you really? Mr. George Mason came out of the office some time before that, I believe?”
“George Mason, George! The manager. He did. I have already made a statement to this effect I believe, Mr. Wade?”
“That’s right, Joe, but Mr. Alleyn just wants to check up.”
Mr. Singleton inclined his head.
“Quite so. The manager, George Mason, came to the stage-door and repeated, gratuitously and unnesh — unessessraly, my instructions. I was to be sure to ask of each guest his local habitation and his name.”
“Mr. Mason returned to the office?”
“I swear it.”
“You may have to,” said Alleyn. “How long was Mr. Mason away from the office?”
“Let me see. Let me see. While one with moderate haste might tell an hundred. I showed him my list. I convinced him of my incorruptible purpose. I called to mind, I recollect, the coincidence that I had played the part of the porter in Macbeth, and of the sentry, Bernardo, in the Dane — that was in my green and salad days, Commissioner. I had scarce embarked on this trifling reminiscence when Mason turned up the collar of his dinner-jacket and observing that the air was chilly, turned and ran back to the office.”
Alleyn uttered a slight exclamation, glanced at Wade, and asked Singleton to repeat this statement, which he did at great length but to the same effect.
“Do you remember, now,” said Alleyn, “if the office door was open on to the yard as it is now?”
“It was open.”
“Ah yes. You know Dr. Te Pokiha by sight?”
“The native? Dark-visaged, like the Moor? The Moor was perhaps my greatest role. My favourite role. ‘Most potent grave—’
“Wonderful play, that,” interrupted Alleyn. “Dr. Te Pokiha was among the last guests to arrive, I think?”
“True.”
“Did you notice him coming?”
“I marked him come, yes. He too emerged from the office, carrying his mantle. He darted back and reappeared. He approached me and I admitted him, striking out his name as I did so.”
“Now, Mr. Singleton, I take it from what you have told me that you would be prepared to make a sworn statement that once Mr. Ackroyd, or Mr. Mason, or Dr. Te Pokiha had gone in at the stage-door they did not return to the office, and once they had gone to the office, did not return to the stage without your knowledge?”