His voice, muffled and insecure though it was, seemed the voice of an educated man. Alleyn wondered if he had been born to vacuum cleaners and philately.
“How long were you in Liverpool, Mr. Legge?”
“Nearly two years.”
“And before that?”
“I was in London. In the City. I was born in London. Why do you ask?”
“Routine, Mr. Legge,” said Alleyn, and thought of Cubitt. “What I was going to ask you was this. Had you ever met Mr. Watchman before he arrived at Ottercombe?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Alleyn looked up.
“Do you mind telling us where you met him? You need not answer any of these questions, of course, if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t in the least object, Chief Inspector. I met him in a slight collision at Diddlestock Corner. He was very nice about it.”
Alleyn stared at him and he blinked nervously. Fox, Alleyn noticed, was stifling a grin.
“Was that the first time you saw him?”
“Oh, no. I’d seen him before. In court.”
“What?”
“I used to go a great deal to the courts when I was in London. I always found it very absorbing. Of course Mr. Watchman didn’t know me.”
“I see.”
Alleyn moved Abel’s best ink-pot from one side of the table to the other and stared thoughtfully at it.
“Mr. Legge,” he said at last, “how much did you have to drink on that Friday night?”
“Too much,” said Legge quickly. “I realize it now. Not so much as the others, but too much. I have a good head as a rule, a very good head. But unless he moved his finger, which I still think possible, I must have taken too much.”
He gave Alleyn a sidelong glance.
“I usually play my best,” said Mr. Legge, “when I am a little intoxicated. I must have overdone it. I shall never forgive myself, never.”
“How long was it,” Alleyn asked, “before you realized what had happened?”
“Oh, a very long time. I thought it must be tetanus. I’ve seen a man with tetanus. You see, I had forgotten about that dreadful stuff. I had forgotten that Mr. Pomeroy opened the cupboard that afternoon.”
“That was for—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” Legge interrupted, again with that gesture of admonishment. “You’re going to remind me that he opened it to get the iodine for my face. Do you suppose that I can ever forget that? I was doubly the instrument. That’s what upsets me so dreadfully. He must have done something then, and accidentally got it on his fingers. I don’t know. I don’t pretend it’s not a mystery.” His face twitched dolorously. “I’m wretchedly unhappy,” he whispered. “Miserable!”
People with no personal charm possess one weapon, an occasional appeal to our sense of pathos. There was something intolerably pitiable in Legge; in his furtiveness, his threadbare respectability, his obvious terror, and his little spurts of confidence. Alleyn had a violent desire to get rid of him, to thrust him away as something indecent and painful. But he said: “Mr. Legge, have you any objections to our taking your fingerprints?”
The chair fell over as Legge got to his feet. He backed towards the door, turning his head from side to side and wringing his hands. Fox moved to the door, but Legge seemed unaware of him. He gazed like a trapped animal at Alleyn.
“Oh God!” he said. “Oh dear! Oh dear me! Oh God, I knew you’d say that!” and broke into tears.
ii
“Come now, Mr. Legge,” said Alleyn at last, “you mustn’t let the affair get on your nerves like this. If as you think, Mr. Watchman’s death was purely accidental, you have nothing to fear. There’s nothing very terrible in having your fingerprints taken.”
“Yes, there is,” contradicted Legge in a sort of fury. “It’s a perfectly horrible suggestion. I resent it. I deeply resent it. I most strongly object.”
“Very well, then,” said Alleyn placidly, “we won’t take them.”
Mr. Legge blew his nose violently and looked over the top of his handkerchief at Alleyn.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s all very well, but I know what tricks you’ll get up to. You’ll get them by stealth, I know. I’ve heard of the practices that go on in the police. I’ve studied the matter. It’s like everything else in a state governed by capitalism. Trickery and intimidation… You’ll give me photographs to identify and take my fingerprints from them.”
“Not now you’ve warned us,” said Alleyn.
“You’ll get them against my will and then you’ll draw false conclusions from them. That’s what you’ll do.”
“What sort of false conclusions?”
“About me,” cried Legge passionately, “about me.”
“You know that’s all nonsense,” said Alleyn quietly. “You will do yourself no good by talking like this.”
“I won’t talk at all. I will not be trapped into making incriminating statements. I will not be kept in here against my will!”
“You may go whenever you wish,” said Alleyn. “Fox, will you open the door?”
Fox opened the door. Legge backed towards it, but on the threshold he paused.
“If only,” he said with extraordinary intensity, “if only you’d have the sense to see that I couldn’t have done any thing, even if I’d wanted to. If only you’d realize that and leave me in peace. You don’t know what damage you may do, indeed you don’t. If only you would leave me in peace!”
He swallowed noisily, made a movement with his hands that was eloquent of misery and defeat, and went away.
Fox stood with his hand on the doorknob. “He’s gone back to the garage,” said Fox. “Surely he won’t bolt.”
“I don’t think he’ll bolt, Fox. Not in that car.” Fox stood and listened, looking speculatively at Alleyn.
“Well,” he said, “that was a rum go, Mr. Alleyn, wasn’t it?”
“Very rum indeed. I suppose you’re thinking what I’m thinking?”
“He’s been inside,” said Fox. “I’ll take my oath that man’s done his stretch.”
“I think so, too, and what’s more he had that suit before he went in. It was made by a decent tailor about six years ago, or more, and it was made for Mr. Legge. It fits him well enough and he’s too odd a shape for reach-me-downs.”
“Notice his hands?”
“I did. And the hair, and the walk, and the eyes. I thought he was going to sob it all out on my bosom. Ugh!” said Alleyn. “It’s beastly, that furtive, wary look they get. Fox, ring up Illington and ask Harper to send the dart up to Dabs. It’s got his prints. Not very nice ones, but they’ll do to go on with.”
Fox went off to the telephone, issued cryptic instructions, and returned.
“I wonder,” said Fox, “who he is, and what they pulled him in for.”
“We’ll have to find out.”
“He behaved very foolish,” said Fox austerely. “All that refusing to have his prints taken. We’re bound to find out. We’ll have to get his dabs, sir.”
“Yes,” agreed Alleyn, “on the sly, as he foretold.”
“I wonder what he’s doing out there,” said Fox.
“Wait a moment,” said Alleyn. “I’ll have a look.”
He stole into the passage. Legge had left the side door ajar and Alleyn could see the yard outside, flooded with moonshine. He slipped out and moved like a cat across the yard into the shadow of the garage door. Here he stopped and listened. From inside the garage came a rhythmic whisper, interrupted at intervals by low thuds, and accompanied by the sound of breathing. A metal door opened and closed stealthily, a boot scraped across stone. The rhythmic whisper began again. Alleyn stole away and recrossed the yard, his long shadow going fantastically before him.