“Well,” said Mason, “I don’t remember because I was asleep myself.”
“As Mr. Singleton would say,” grinned Alleyn, “a very palpable hit. I put it carelessly. Let me amend it. Each of us has admitted that he or she was asleep for some time before we got to Ohakune. I have asked all the others and they agree to this. They also agree that they were all awakened by a terrific jolt as we got on to the thing they call the spiral. Old Miss Max was decanted into my lap. You remember?”
“I do. Poor old Susie! She looked a scream, didn’t she?”
“And Ackroyd let out a remarkably blue oath.”
“That’s right. Foul mouthed little devil — I don’t like that sort of thing. Common. He will do it.”
“Well now, you remember all this—”
“Of course I do. I thought we’d run into a cow or something.”
“And Mr. Meyer thought someone had given him a kick in the seat.”
“By George!” said Mason, “why didn’t someone think of that.”
“That’s what we’re always saying to the chief, Mr. Mason,” said Wade. “The trouble is, we don’t, and he does.”
There was a knock on the door.
“That’ll be the doctor,” said Wade. “Come in.”
Dr. Te Pokiha came in, smiling.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before. I had to go to the hospital — urgent case. You wanted to see me, Mr. Alleyn?”
“We all want to see you, I think,” said Alleyn. “It’s in connection with our conversation last night.”
He repeated the story of Mason and his overcoat. Te Pokiha listened without a word. When Alleyn had finished, there was a pause.
“Well, doctor, do you think you made a mistake?” said Wade.
“Certainly not, Mr. Mason came in at the outside door wearing his coat and hat. He took them off afterwards, when I removed my own coat. I am not in the habit of making mis-statements.”
“It’s not that,” said Mason peaceably, “it’s just that I came in before you did and put on my coat because I was cold. I’ve got a weak tummy, doctor,” he added with an air of giving the medical man a treat.
“You came in after I did,” said Te Pokiha with considerable emphasis. The whites of his eyes seemed to become more noticeable and his heavy brows came together.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t,” said Mason.
“You mean to say I’m a liar.”
“Don’t be silly, doctor. You simply made a mistake.”
“I did not make any mistake. This is insufferable. You will please admit at once that I am right.”
“Why the deuce should I when you are obviously wrong,” said Mason irritably.
“Don’t repeat that.” Te Pokiha’s warm voice thickened. His lips coarsened into a sort of snarl. He showed his teeth like a dog. “By Jove,” thought Alleyn, “the odd twenty per cent of pure savage.”
“Oh, don’t be a fool,” grunted Mason. “You don’t know what you’re talking about”
“You give me the lie!”
“Shut up. This isn’t a Wild West show.”
“You give me the lie!”
“Oh, for God’s sake don’t go native,” said Mason— and laughed.
Te Pokiha made a sudden leap at him. Mason scuttled behind Packer. “Keep off, you damn’ nigger!” he screamed.
The next few minutes were occupied in saving Mr. Mason’s life. Alleyn, Packer and Wade tackled Te Pokiha efficiently and scientifically, but even so it took their combined efforts to subdue him. He fought silently and savagely and only gave up when they had both his arms and one of his legs in chancery.
“Very well,” he said suddenly, and relaxed.
Cass appeared bulkily in the doorway. Ackroyd, clasping an armful of underwear, peered under his arm.
“Here, let me out,” said Mason.
“What’s wrong, sir?” asked Cass, not moving.
“I apologise, Mr. Alleyn,” said Te Pokiha quietly. “You can loose your hand.”
“All right, Wade,” said Alleyn.
“Thank you.” He moved away from them, his brown hands at his tie. “I am deeply ashamed,” he said. “This man has spoken of my — my colour. It is true I am a ‘native.’ I come of a people who do not care for insults but I should not have forgotten that an ariki [ — gentleman (literally — first born)] does not lay hands on a taurekareka. [ — slave, low-class person.]”
“What’s all this?” asked Ackroyd greedily.
“You buzz off, sir,” advised Cass. Ackroyd disappeared.
“I will go now,” said Te Pokiha. “If you wish to see me again, Mr. Alleyn, I shall be at my rooms between one and two. I am very sorry indeed that I forgot myself. Good morning, gentlemen.”
“And with that he swep’ off,” said Mason, coming out of cover. “My God, what a savage. I think if you don’t mind I’ll go back to the pub. This has upset me. My God. Has he gone? Right, I’m off.”
He went down the yard. Te Pokiha was getting into his car.
“Follow him,” snapped Alleyn to Cass. “Don’t lose sight of him.”
“Who?” said Cass, startled. “Te Pokiha?”
“No, Mason,” said Alleyn.
Chapter XXV
ALLEYN SPEAKS THE TAG
Extract from a letter written by Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn to Detective-Inspector Fox, C.I.D.:
— I’ve just returned from the arrest which took place immediately after the inquest. Mason gave no trouble. I think he was taken completely by surprise, though he must have felt things were getting dangerous as soon as the overcoat was mentioned. He said that he was innocent and that he would make no statement until he had consulted a lawyer. Psychologically he might be classed with Crippen, a drab everyday little man; but he’s not got the excuse of the crime passionnel. I suspect a stronger motive than the mere acquisition of money. Your cable seems to point to something fishy about the handling of his side of Incorporated Playhouses. I wouldn’t mind betting that you find he’s been gambling with the Firm’s money and needed this bequest to get himself out of a hole. If the story of his leaving a company stranded in America is true, it looks as if we’ll find a history of unscrupulousness over money matters.
He is a superb actor, of course. They told me so in the wardrobe-room and, by George, it’s true. He got right into the skin of his part — the insignificant little dyspeptic, worrying about what would happen to the show. The dyspepsia is true enough; we’ve found half a pharmacopoeia of remedies in his room. Somebody ought to write a monograph on the effect of the stomach on the morals.
You will get a solemn letter of thanks from Nixon, I expect. You’ve been remarkably nippy getting on to the trail, you cunning old devil. The case has interested me very much. It looked so complicated and it was actually so simple, once Bob Parsons had made his statement. Of course Mason had no idea Bob was in a position to provide a cast-iron alibi for the entire company, and no doubt thought that it would look as if any one of them might have dodged out and popped up to the grid. We have been very lucky. If Miss Dacres had not dropped the tiki I don’t believe we should have made an arrest. The stage-staff would have sworn it was murder, but everyone else would have thought they had made a mistake over the weights. I can’t help wondering if Mason meant, all along, to do just what Miss Dacres did for him. He didn’t get a chance, as it happened. I packed him off to the office with Te Pokiha. Really, he planned the thing quite well. His visit to the stage-door established his alibi, and his remark about the cold air drew Singleton’s attention to the fact that he was hatless and in his dinner-jacket. He returned to the office, put on his overcoat and hat, slid along the wall under cover of the open door — it’s an ill-lit place at night — walked boldly across the open end where there must have been plenty of people coming away from the show, came back along the yard, hidden from Singleton by the projecting bicycle shed, and then doubled round to the back of the theatre using the back-door key and leaving it on the inside when he returned.