“If I can be of any help,” said Alleyn very formally, “of course I shall be only too glad—”

“No, no, no. That’s not a bit of good. Sticking out all your prickles like that,” said Carolyn, with something of her old vigour. “I want a real answer.”

“But, don’t you see, you say too much and too little. What sort of help do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Come,” said Alleyn, “I’ll promise to stay in Middleton a little longer. When do you go on to Wellington?”

“When? We were to open there next week, but now — I don’t know.”

“Listen to me. I give you one piece of advice. Don’t try and keep anything in the dark, no matter what it is. Those fellows out there will want to talk to you. They’ll have to ask you all sorts of questions. Answer them truthfully, no matter what it means, no matter how painful it may be, no matter where you think their questions are leading you. Promise me that and I’ll pledge you my help, for what it’s worth.”

Carolyn still leant towards him, still looked straight at him. But he felt her withdrawal as certainly as though it had been physical.

“Well?” he asked. “Is it a bargain?”

But before she could answer him Hailey Hambledon came back with the brandy.

“The detectives want us all to wait in the wardrobe-room,” he said. “I don’t know about you, Alleyn.”

“You haven’t given me away to anyone, have you?” asked Alleyn.

“No, no. Only we three realise you’re a detective.”

“Please let it stay like that, will you?” asked Alleyn. “I’m most anxious that it should be so.”

“I’ll promise you that,” said Carolyn.

Their eyes met.

“Thank you,” said Alleyn quietly. “I’ll join you later.”

“Who’s that?” demanded the largest of the three detectives. “Just a minute there, please.” He was on the stage and had caught sight of Alleyn through the Open door on the prompt entrance.

“It’s me,” said Alleyn in a mild voice and walked through. The detective, Te Pokiha, and the police doctor, were all standing by the table.

“Who’s this gentleman, Mr. Gascoigne?” continued the detective.

“Er — it’s — er... Mr. Alleyn, Inspector.”

“Member of the company?”

“No,” said Alleyn, “just a friend.”

“I thought I said no one was to come out here. What were you doing, sir? Didn’t you understand—”

“I just thought—” began Alleyn with that particular air of hurt innocence that always annoyed him when he met it in his official capacity. “I just thought—”

“I’ll have your full name and address, if you please,” interrupted the inspector, and opened his notebook. “Allan, you said. First name?”

“Roderick.”

“How do you spell—” The inspector stopped short and stared at Alleyn.

“A-l-l-e-y-n, Inspector.”

“Good God!”

“New Scotland Yard, London,” added Alleyn apologetically.

“By cripes, sir, I’m sorry. We’d heard you were— we didn’t know — I mean—”

“I shall call at headquarters when I get to Wellington,” said Alleyn. “I’ve got a letter somewhere from your chief. Should have answered it. Very dilatory of me.”

“I’m very, very sorry, sir. We thought you were in Auckland. We’ve been expecting you, of course.”

“I changed my plans,” said Alleyn. “All my fault, Inspector—?”

“Wade, sir,” said the inspector, scarlet in the face.

“How do you do?” said Alleyn cheerfully, and held out his hand.

“I’m very very pleased to meet you, Chief Inspector,” said Inspector Wade, shaking it relentlessly. “Very very pleased. We had word that you were on your way, and as a matter of fact, Superintendent Nixon was going to look in at the Middleton as soon as you came down. Yes, that’s right. The super was going to call. We’ve all been trained on your book. [Principles and Practices of Criminal Investigation, by Roderick Alleyn, M.A. (Oxon), C.I.D. (Sable & Murgatroyd, 21s.)] It’s — it’s a great honour to meet the author.”

“That’s very nice of you,” said Alleyn, easing his fingers a little. “I should have called at your headquarters on my arrival but you know how it is in a new place. One puts off these things.” He glanced through the wings on to the stage.

“That’s right. And now we meet on the job as you might say. Ye-ees.”

“Not my job, thank the Lord,” said Alleyn, “and, look here. I want to hide my job under a bushel. So — if you don’t mind — just don’t mention it to any of these people.”

“Certainly, sir. I hope you’ll let the boys here meet you. They’d be very very pleased, I know.”

“So should I — delighted. Just tip them the wink, if you don’t mind, to forget about the C.I.D. And as I’m a layman, I suppose you want to ask me a few questions, Inspector?”

The New Zealander’s large healthy face again turned red.

“Well now, sir, that makes me feel a bit foolish but — well — yes, we’ve got to do the usual, you know.”

“Of course you have,” said Alleyn very charmingly. “Nasty business, isn’t it? I shall be most interested to see something of your methods if you will allow me.”

“It’s very fine of you to put it that way, sir. To be quite frank I was wondering if you would give us an account of what took place before the accident. You were in the party, I understand.”

“A statement in my own words, Inspector?” asked Alleyn, twinkling.

“That’s right,” agreed Wade with a roar of laughter, which he instantly quelled. His two subordinates, hearing this unseemly noise, strolled up and were introduced. Detective-Sergeants Cass and Parker. They shook Alleyn’s hand and stared profoundly at the floor. Alleyn gave a short but extremely workman-like account of the tragedy.

“By cripes!” said Inspector Wade with great feeling, “it’s not often we get it like that. Now, about the way this champagne business was fixed. You say you made a sketch of it, sir.”

Alleyn showed him the sketch.

“Ought to have worked O.K.,” said Wade. “I’ll go up and have a look-see.”

“You’ll find it rather different, now,” said Alleyn. “I ventured to have a glance up there myself. I do hope you don’t mind, Inspector. It was damned officious, I know, but I didn’t get off the ladder and I’m sure I’ve done no harm.”

“That’s quite all right, sir,” said Wade heartily. “No objections here. We don’t have Scotland Yard alongside us every day. You say it’s different from your sketch?”

“Yes. May I come up with you?”

“Too right. You boys fix up down here. Get the photographs through and the body shifted to the mortuary. You’d better ring the station for more men. Get a statement from the stage-manager and the bloke that rigged this tackle. You can take that on, Cass. And Packer, you get statements from the rest of the crowd. Are they all in the wardrobe-room?”

“I think they will be there by now,” said Alleyn. “The guests have gone, with the exception of a Mr. Gordon Palmer and his cousin Mr. Weston who, I believe, are still here. Mr. George Mason, the business manager, has a list of the names and addresses. The guests simply came behind the scenes for the party and are casual acquaintances of the company. Mr. Palmer and his cousin came out in the same ship as the company. I–I suggested that perhaps they might be of use. They were,” said Alleyn dryly, “delighted to remain.”

“Good-oh,” said Wade. “Get to it, you boys. Are you ready, Mr. Alleyn?”

He led the way up the iron ladder. When he reached the first gallery he paused and switched on his torch.

“Not much light up here,” he grunted.

“Wait a moment,” called Alleyn from below. “There’s a light-border. I’ll see if I can find the switch.”

He climbed up to the electrician’s perch and, after one or two experiments, switched on the overhead lights. A flood of golden warmth poured down through the dark strips of canvas.