“It does, indeed,” said Alleyn.
Fox, who had been completely silent, now uttered a low growl.
“Yes, Fox?” asked Alleyn.
“Nothing, Mr. Alleyn.”
“Well,” said Alleyn, “we’ve almost done. We now come to the brandy Miss Moore poured out of the Courvoisier bottle into Watchman’s empty glass. Who suggested he should have brandy?”
“I’m not certain-sure, sir. I b’lieve Mr. Parish first, and then Miss Darragh, but I wouldn’t swear to her.”
“Would you swear that nobody had been near Mr. Watchman’s glass between the time he took his second nip and the time Miss Moore gave him the brandy?”
“Not Legge,” said Abel, thoughtfully. And then with that shade of reluctance with which he coloured any suggestion of Legge’s innocence: “Legge wurr out in middle o’ floor afore dart board. Mr. Watchman stood atween him and table wurr t’glass stood. Mr. Parish walked over to look at Mr. Watchman spreading out his fingers. All t’others stood hereabouts, behind Legge. No one else went anigh t’glass.”
“And after the accident? Where was everybody then?”
“Crowded round Mr. Watchman. Will stepped out of corner. I come through under counter. Miss Darragh stood anigh us, and Dessy by Will. Legge stood staring where he wurr. Reckon Mr. Parish did be closest still to glass, but he stepped forward when Mr. Watchman flopped down on settle. I be a bit mazed-like wurr they all stood. I disremember.”
“Naturally enough. Would you say anybody could have touched that glass between the moment when the dart struck and the time Miss Moore poured out the brandy?”
“I don’t reckon anybody could,” said Abel, but his voice slipped a half-tone and he looked profoundly uncomfortable.
“Not even Mr. Parish?”
Abel stared over Alleyn’s head and out of the window. His lower lip protruded and he looked as mulish as a sulky child.
“Maybe he could,” said Abel, “but he didn’t.”
Chapter X
The Tumbler and the Dart
i
“We may as well let him have this room,” said Alleyn, when Abel had gone. “Harper’s done everything possible in the way of routine.”
“He’s a very thorough chap, is Nick Harper.”
“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “Except in the matter of the rat-hole jar. However, Fox, we’ll see if we can catch him out before we let the public in. Let’s prowl a bit.”
They prowled for an hour. They kept the door locked and closed the bar shutters. Dim sounds of toping penetrated from the public tap-room. Alleyn had brought Harper’s photographs and they compared these with the many chalk marks Harper had left behind him. A chalk mark under the settle showed where the iodine bottle had rolled. The plot of the bottle of Scheele’s acid was marked in the top cupboard. The shelves of the corner cupboard were very dusty, and the trace left by the bottle showed clearly. Alleyn turned to the fireplace.
“He hasn’t shifted the ashes, Br’er Fox. We may as well do that, I think.”
Fox fetched a small sieve from Alleyn’s case. The ashes at first yielded nothing of interest but in the last handful they found a small misshapen object which Alleyn dusted and took to the light.
“Glass,” he said. “They must have had a good fire. It’s melted and gone all bobbly. There’s some more. Broken glass, half-melted by the fire.”
“They probably make the fire up on the old ashes,” said Fox. “It may have lain there through two or three fires.”
“Yes, Fox. And then again, it may not. I wonder if those fragments of the brandy glass were complete. This has been a thickish piece, I should say.”
“A bit of the bottom?”
“We’ll have to find out. You never know. Where was the broken glass?”
The place where most of the broken glass had been found was marked on the floor.
“Oh careful Mr. Harper!” Alleyn sighed. “But it doesn’t get us much farther, I’m afraid. Fox, I’m like to get in a muddle over this. You must keep me straight. You know what an ass I can make of myself. No,” as Fox looked amiably sceptical. “No, I mean it. There are at least three likely pitfalls. I wish to heaven they hadn’t knocked over that glass and tramped it to smithereens.”
“D’you think there was cyanide in the glass, Mr. Alleyn?”
“God bless us, Fox, I don’t know. I don’t know, my dear old article. How can I? But it would help a lot if we could know one way or the other. Finding none on those tiny pieces isn’t good enough.”
“At least,” said Fox, “we know there was cyanide on the dart. And knowing that, sir, and ruling out accident, I must say I agree with old Pomeroy. It looks like Legge.”
“But how the devil could Legge put prussic acid on the dart with eight people all watching him? He was standing under the light, too.”
“He felt the points,” said Fox, without conviction.
“Get along with you, Foxkins. Prussic acid is extremely volatile. Could Legge dip his fingers in the acid and then wait a couple of hours or so — with every hope of giving himself a poisoned hand? He’d have needed a bottle of the stuff about him.”
“He may have had one. He may be a bit of a conjurer. Legerdemain,” added Fox.
“Well — he may. We’ll have to find out.”
Alleyn lit a cigarette and sat down.
“Let’s worry it out,” he said. “May I talk? And when I go wrong, Fox, you stop me.”
“It’s likely then,” said Fox, drily, “to be a monologue. But go ahead, sir, if you please.”
Alleyn went ahead. His pleasant voice ran on and on and a kind of orderliness began to appear. The impossible, the possible, and the probable were sorted into groups, and from the kaleidoscopic jumble of evidence was formed a pattern.
“Imperfect,” said Alleyn, “but at least suggestive.”
“Suggestive, all right,” Fox said. “And if it’s correct, the case, in a funny sort of way, still hinges on the dart.”
“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “The bare bodkin. The feathered quarrel and all that. Well, Fox, we’ve wallowed in speculation and now we’d better get on with the job. I think I hear Pomeroy senior in the public bar, so presumably Pomeroy junior is at liberty. Let’s remove to the parlour.”
“Shall I get hold of young Pomeroy?”
“In a minute. Ask him to bring us a couple of pints. You’d better not suggest that he join us in a drink. He doesn’t like us much, and I imagine he’d refuse, which would not be the best possible beginning.”
Alleyn wandered into the inglenook, knocked out his pipe on the hearthstone, and then stooped down.
“Look here, Fox.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Look at this log-box.”
Fox bent himself at the waist and stared into a heavy wooden box in which Abel kept his pieces of driftwood and the newspaper used for kindling. Alleyn pulled out a piece of paper and took it to the light
“It’s been wet,” observed Fox.
“Very wet. Soaked. It was thrust down among the bits of wood. A little pool had lain in the pocket. Smell it.”
Fox sniffed, vigorously.
“Brandy?” he asked.
“Don’t know. Handle it carefully, Br’er Fox. Put it away in your room and then get Pomeroy junior.”
Alleyn returned to the parlour, turned on the red-shaded lamp and settled himself behind the table.
Fox came in, followed by Will Pomeroy. Will carried two pint pots of beer. He set them down on the table.
“Thank you,” said Alleyn. “Can you spare us a moment?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down, won’t you?”
Will hesitated awkwardly, and then chose the least comfortable chair and sat on the extreme edge. Fox took out his note-book and Will’s eyes flickered. Alleyn laid three keys on the table.