“By cripes, that’s just what it is,” said Wade with the liveliest satisfaction.

He opened out his find and laid it on the desk. “Quite short, too, it seems to be. Look here, sir.”

Alleyn read over his shoulder. Cass, with heavy nonchalance, moved a step or two nearer. A long silence followed, broken occasionally by a stertorous whispering noise made by Inspector Wade when he came upon a passage of involved legal phraseology. At last Alleyn straightened his long back and Wade brought his palm down with a slap on the open will.

“Money!” he said. “We’ve got it here all right. Yee-ers. Notice the date? Two years ago. And three months. Seems Mr. Mason is a principal legatee. Can you beat that? Meyer fixes the wife up with a whacking big lump sum and leaves the rest to his partner in — how does it go? — ‘in recognition of his lifelong devotion to the firm of Incorporated Playhouses and in memory of a friendship that only death can sever.’ ”

“Pleasantly Victorian,” remarked Alleyn, “and rather charming.”

“Well, they certainly hit the right note when they said Mason’d be a rich man,” said Wade.

“They did, didn’t they?”

“Sixty thousand to the wife — and look at the residue. Forty thousand. Forty thousand and his share in the business, all to Mason. By gosh! Well, I’d better get on with the job, I suppose. I think we’ll see this young Broadhead next. Looks to me as if there might be something in that, though it’s too early to speculate. I reckon you’d say it’s always too early to do that, wouldn’t you, sir?”

“I say so, Mr. Wade, but I do it just the same.”

Wade gave his great shout of laughter.

“It’s human nature,” he said. “Wondering! People spend half their time wondering about each other. That’s what sells this detective fiction, I reckon.”

“I think you’re right,” said Alleyn. “It’s what made policemen out of both of us, I wouldn’t mind betting. Are you keen on your job, Wade?”

“Well now, that’s a bit of a poser, that is.” And Wade stared solemnly at Alleyn. “Yes. Taking it all round, I’d say I was. Not but what it doesn’t give you a pain in the neck sometimes. Making the usual inquiries. Following up information received. And the first two or three years are enough to break your heart, they’re that slow. Police-constable duty, I mean. Of course, you didn’t have any of that, sir.”

“Did I not?” asked Alleyn grimly.

“Why, I reckoned you’d be kind of—” He hesitated. “You came at it from college, didn’t you, sir? I mean you were kind of—”

“I went into the force before the days of Lord Trenchard’s scheme. I came down from Oxford, and after three years soldiering, and a brief sojourn in the Foreign Office, signed on in the usual way and went on night duty in Poplar.”

“Is that so? Is that so?” Wade stared at Alleyn’s fastidiously ironical face and looked as if he was trying to picture it beneath a helmet.

“How about Mr. Broadhead?” asked Alleyn.

“That’s right. Get him, Cass.”

“Hadn’t I better disappear?” suggested Alleyn when Cass had gone. “It’ll look a little odd if I don’t.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, sir. Now, you say you don’t want this crowd to know you’re what you are. Well now, if you feel that way it’s up to us to respect your wishes. It’s just for you to say. And I’m very, very glad to have had your report on what you’ve heard. Still, it seems to me that with four of these theatricals knowing you’re a Chief Inspector from the Yard, it’s not going to be a secret for long.”

“You’re perfectly right,” groaned Alleyn.

“Well now, sir, what if I was to tell them who you are? Mind, if you want to keep out of it, you’ve only to say so and we’ll respect your wishes, but if you’re interested, we’d be only too pleased. I had a chat just now over the phone with the super, and I told him you were helping us anonymously, and he said he’d call on you in the morning, as maybe you’d be wanting to get home to bed shortly. He said we were to show, you every courtesy, sir, and I’m sure we want to, but if you feel like sitting in official-like, well—”

And here Inspector Wade, having wound himself up into a sort of struggling verbal cocoon, gave up the unequal contest and stared rather helplessly at Alleyn.

“My dear fellow,” said Alleyn quickly, “of course I’ll sit in if you’d like me to. It’s extraordinarily nice of you to ask me. Tell them I’m a busy, by all means, if you think it’ll serve any useful purpose. There comes your Broadhead now.”

Courtney Broadhead was ushered in by Cass. His face looked white and drawn in the harsh light shed by the office lamp. He stopped short just inside the door, stared unhappily at Wade, and then saw Alleyn.

“Hullo, Mr. Alleyn,” he said. “You still up?”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “This is Inspector Wade — Mr. Courtney Broadhead.”

“Good evening, Mr. Broadhead,” said Wade, with a kind of official heartiness. “I’d just like a word with you, if you don’t mind. You may be able to help us with one or two points.”

“Oh,” said Broadhead, still staring at Alleyn.

Wade glanced at the notes before him on Alfred Meyer’s old desk.

“Now, Mr. Broadhead, there are a few details I’d like to have from you about your journey down from Auckland in the Limited on Friday night.”

“Oh,” said Broadhead again. His mouth shaped itself into a curious half-smile and still he looked at Alleyn.

“I understand,” continued Wade, “that up to a few minutes before the train reached Ohakune you were in the reserved carriage with the rest of the company. That is correct?”

“I think so. I really don’t remember. You were in our carriage that night, weren’t you, Mr. Alleyn?”

“I was, yes,” said Alleyn.

Broadhead laughed unpleasantly.

“Perhaps you remember where I was before the train got to wherever-it-was.”

“I think I do.”

“Did you go out on the platform before the train reached Ohakune, Mr. Broadhead?” asked Wade with rather unconvincing airiness.

“Believe I did. Ask Mr. Alleyn.”

Wade looked blandly at Alleyn.

“I believe he did,” said Alleyn.

“At what time,” pursued Wade.

“Ask Mr. Alleyn.”

“About two-thirty-five,” said Alleyn cheerfully.

“Wonderful memory, you’ve got,” remarked Broadhead. “Do they pay you for this?”

“Now, Mr. Broadhead,” said Wade. “Was Mr. Meyer on the opposite platform to the one on which you stood? The sleeper-platform?”

“Doesn’t Mr. Alleyn know that too?” asked Broadhead.

“Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn,” said Wade with a certain amount of relish, “has been kind enough to make his own statement.”

Courtney Broadhead looked bewildered, then flabbergasted and then, strangely enough, relieved. Unexpectedly he burst out laughing.

“Oh, no!” he said. “Not really. A genuine sleuth and in at the death! I got you wrong. I thought you were being the helpful little amateur. Sorry.” He examined Alleyn with interest. “Good Lord, you’re the man with the marvellous press. The Daily Sun ran you in the Gardener case, didn’t it?”

“Spare me,” said Alleyn.

“ ‘The Handsome Sleuth or the Man Who Never Gives Up.’ I thought your name was spelt—”

“It is,” said Alleyn. “The passenger list got it wrong.”

Broadhead was silent. He seemed to be turning over this new piece of information in his mind. Something of his former manner appeared when he spoke again.

“Are you interested professionally in this — this case?”

“We hope that the chief inspector,” said Wade, “will very kindly give us the benefit of his advice.”

“Do you!” said Broadhead.

“Now about Mr. Meyer on the sleeper-platform,” said Wade briskly. “Was he there?”

“No. Not while I was outside.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Cass glanced up from his notebook. Wade leant forward. Alleyn, who had an unlit cigarette between his lips, paused in the act of striking a match.