“It looks as if we’ve got to,” said Cubitt.
“I’m afraid it does,” agreed Alleyn. “What other movements did you notice, beyond those made by Mr. Watchman?”
“Somebody was crawling about the floor,” Cubitt said.
Parish made a gesture of impatience. “My dear old Norman,” he said, “ ‘Crawling about the floor!’ You’re giving Mr. Alleyn a wrong impression. Completely wrong! I’ve no doubt one of us may have stooped down in the dark, knelt down, perhaps, to try and get hold of Luke.”
“I don’t mean that at all,” said Cubitt calmly. “Someone was literally crawling about the floor. Whoever it was banged his head against my knees.”
“Where were you standing?” asked Alleyn.
“By the foot of the settle. I had my back to the settle. The backs of my knees touched it.”
“How d’you know it was a head?” demanded Parish. “It might have been a foot.”
“I can distinguish between a foot and a head,” said Cubitt, “even in the dark.”
“Somebody feeling round for the brandy glass,” said Parish.
“It was after the brandy glass was broken.” Cubitt looked at Alleyn. “Somebody trod on the glass soon after the lights went out. There’s probably nothing in it, anyway. I’ve no idea at all whose head it was.”
“Was it Legge’s head?” demanded Parish, suddenly.
“I tell you, Seb,” said Cubitt, quite mildly, “I don’t know whose head it was. I merely know it was there. It simply butted against my knees and drew away quickly.”
“Well, of course!” said Parish. “It was Abel.”
“Why Abel?”
Parish turned to Alleyn.
“Abel dropped the bottle of iodine just before the lights went out. I remember that. He must have stooped down to try and find it.”
“If it was Abel, he didn’t succeed,” said Alleyn. “The bottle was found under the settle, you know.”
“Well, it was dark.”
“So it was,” agreed Alleyn. “Why did you think it might be Mr. Legge’s head?”
Parish at once became very solemn. He moved to the hearthrug. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his shorts, pulled in his belly, and stuck out his jaw.
“God knows,” he began, “I don’t want to condemn any man, but Norman and I have talked this thing over.”
“Come off it, Seb,” said Cubitt. “We haven’t a blessed thing against the fellow, you know. Nothing that would be of any interest to Mr. Alleyn. I’m very well aware that my own ideas are largely self-protective. I suppose you know, Mr. Alleyn, that Watchman left me some of his money.”
“Yes,” said Alleyn.
“Yes. It’s as good a motive as any other. Better than most. I don’t fancy I’m in a position to make suggestions about other people.”
He said this with a sort of defiance, looking out of the window and half-smiling.
“This sort of thing,” added Cubitt, “finds out the thin patches in one’s honesty.”
“If you can admit as much,” said Alleyn, quickly, “perhaps they are not so very thin.”
“Thanks,” said Cubitt, drily.
“Well,” began Parish, with the air of running after the conversation, “I don’t altogether agree with you, Norman. I make no secret about dear old Luke leaving the rest of his money to me. In a way, it was the natural thing for him to do. I’m his next-of-kin.”
“But I,” said Cubitt, “am no relation at all.”
“Oh, my dear old boy!” cried Parish in a hurry. “You were his best friend. Luke said so when he—” Parish stopped short.
“To revert,” said Alleyn, “to Mr. Legge. You were going to talk about Mr. Legge, weren’t you?”
“I was,” said Parish. “I can’t help what you think, Norman old boy. It seems to me that Legge’s hand in this ghastly business is pretty obvious. Nobody but Legge could have known the poisoned dart would take effect. I must say I don’t see that there’s much mystery about it.”
“And the motive?” asked Cubitt.
Alleyn said: “I understand your cousin told you that he and Mr. Legge were strangers to each other.”
“I know he did,” said Parish, “but I don’t believe it was true. I believe Luke recognized Legge. Not at first, perhaps, but later. During that first evening in the bar. I suppose you know that Legge smashed into my cousin’s car before ever he got here? That’s a bit funny, too, when you come to think of it.”
“What,” asked Cubitt, “is the dark inference, Seb? Why was it funny? Do you suppose that Legge lurked round Diddlestock Corner in a two-seater, and that every time he heard a powerful car coming down Ottercombe Road, he hurled his baby out of cover in the hopes of ramming Luke?”
“Oh, don’t be an ass. I simply mean it was a coincidence.”
“About the first evening in the bar?” suggested Alleyn, who had decided that there was a certain amount to be said for allowing Parish and Cubitt plenty of rein.
“Yes. Well, I was going to tell you,” said Parish. “I talked to Luke while he had his supper in the bar. He told me about this business with the cars and rather let off steam on the subject of the other driver. Well, it turned out that Legge was sitting in the settle — the— actually it was the settle where Luke — where it happened. When Luke realized Legge must have heard he went across and sort of made the amende-honorable, if you know what I mean. He didn’t make much headway. Legge was rather stuffy and up-stage.”
“Was all this while the poison-party was going on in the stable?”
“What? Yes. Yes, it was.”
“So that Mr. Legge did not attend the party in the stables?”
“I suppose not. But he knew all about it. When Abel came in he warned everybody in the place about what he’d done.”
Parish hesitated. “It’s hard to describe,” he said. “But if you’d known my cousin you’d understand. He seemed to be getting at Legge. Even you’ll agree to that, Norman.”
“Yes,” said Cubitt. “I put it down to Luke’s vanity.”
“His vanity?” asked Alleyn.
“Parish doesn’t agree with me,” said Cubitt with a faint smile, “on the subject of Watchman’s vanity. I’ve always considered he attached importance to being on good terms with people. It seemed to me that when Legge snubbed his advances Watchman was at first disconcerted and put out of countenance, and then definitely annoyed. They had a bet on that first night about Legge’s dart-throwing and Legge won. That didn’t help. Then Watchman chipped Legge about his politics and his job. Not very prettily, I thought. It was then, or about then, that the trick with the darts was first mentioned.”
“By Legge,” Parish pointed out.
“I know, but Luke insisted on the experiment.”
“Mr. Cubitt,” said Alleyn, “did you not get the impression that these two men had met before?”
Norman Cubitt rumpled his hair and scowled.
“I don’t say that,” he said. “I wondered. But I don’t think one should attach too much importance to what Watchman said.” And like Parish, he added: “If you’d ever met him you’d understand.”
Alleyn did not think it necessary to say that he had met Watchman. He said: “Can you remember anything definite that seemed to point to recognition?”
“It was more the way Luke spoke than what he actually said,” explained Parish. “He kept talking about Legge’s job and sort of suggesting he’d done pretty well for himself. Didn’t he, Norman?”
“I seem to remember a phrase about leading the people by the nose,” said Cubitt, “which sounded rather offensive. And the way Luke invited Legge to play Round-the-Clock was not exactly the glass of fashion or the mould of form. He asked Legge if he’d ever done time.”
“Oh,” said Alleyn.
“But it all sounds far too solemn and significant when you haul it out and display it like this.”