“Er,” said Cass.
“Yes?” asked Alleyn.
“That last sentence, sir — er—‘when I offered to look’—”
“I phrased it badly,” said Alleyn. “I offered to examine Miss Gaynes’s leather folder. She declined, and shortly afterwards withdrew.”
“Thanks,” said Cass.
“Returning to the wardrobe-room. While I was there Mr. Gordon Palmer remarked that Mr. Courtney Broadhead had paid his poker debts the morning after our train journey. Mr. Palmer told us that Mr. Broadhead had previously asked for time in the settlement of these debts. Mr. Palmer asked Mr. Broadhead where he had raised the wind.”
“Obtained the requisite sum,” murmured Cass.
“Certainly, Cass. Mr. Broadhead showed signs of the liveliest indignation and offered violence.”
“Did he strike Palmer?” asked Wade.
“No. I ventured to apply a back-arm bend. Mr. Broadhead informed us that he had confided in the deceased, who had advanced him the money. Mr. Palmer then remarked that it was unfortunate that Mr. Meyer could not substantiate this statement. It was at this stage that the attempt at violence occurred. How’s that for official language?”
“Pardon?”
“No matter. Now, look here, Inspector. I had the impression that young Palmer was not doing his nasty stuff quite off his own bat. I rather fancy someone had egged him on to bate Courtney Broadhead.”
“Do you, sir? Any idea who?”
“Mr. Liversidge,” said Alleyn abstractedly, “was so helpful and kind. He suggested that no doubt Mr. Meyer had made a note of the loan and that this would clear the whole matter up.”
“Well, so it would, sir, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes. Mr. Broadhead explained that the loan was a personal matter and was not recorded on the books.”
“Is that so?” said Wade. He regarded Alleyn solemnly. “Well now, sir, that’s very interesting. You might look at it this way. A young fellow who hasn’t got the cash to pay his debts suddenly pays them and when people get inquisitive he says he was given the money by someone who’s just been murdered.”
“Yes, that’s how Master Palmer put it,” said Alleyn.
“About the tiki,” said Wade after a pause. “I asked the Dacres wom — Mrs. Meyer where it was, and she said she gave it to someone before supper. Neither she nor Hambledon could remember anything about it according to themselves. Nor could Mr. Mason. Now there’s this Mason. I understand he comes in for the money. I suppose it’s a big estate, but you never know with theatricals. We’ll have to watch Mr. Mason.”
“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “I watched him go green in the face just now. He got out just in time — only just.”
“He said something about that. When did it happen?”
“Just after I asked my question about the tiki.”
“Get this down,” said Wade to Cass.
Alleyn described Mr. Mason’s dilemma.
“So he went out, did he,” grunted Wade. “I’ll have something to say to young Packer about that. Too right, I will. Letting him out just because he kidded he felt crook. These blasted youngsters. It may have been one big bluff. What if Mason was the one who had the tiki last and suddenly remembered it? Say he kidded he was crook so’s he could see if he had it in his pockets? I’ll talk to young Packer.”
“Er — yes. Quite so,” agreed Alleyn, diffidently. “But I assure you, Wade, the gentleman would most certainly have been ill where he stood if Packer had restrained him. Judging from the lamentable sounds that reached us, he got no farther than the passage. I don’t think he escaped Packer’s eye, you know.”
“You mean,” said Wade with scriptural accuracy, “he vomited?”
“I do,” said Alleyn, “and to some purpose.”
“Then he wasn’t kidding he was crook?”
“He may be a crook, but why should he—”
“No, no. I mean, he wasn’t making out he felt crook.”
“I–I beg your pardon. No. I should say definitely not.”
“Ugh!” grunted Wade.
“Of course,” said Alleyn mildly, “he may have palmed a piece of soap and eaten it on the sly in order to make himself sick. But no — he didn’t foam at the mouth.”
“I wonder what’s the strength of this Firm of theirs — Incorporated Playhouses, or whatever they call it. Any idea, sir?”
“When Mason went out they all began talking about it. One of them — Ackroyd, I think — remarked that Mr. Mason would be a very wealthy man.”
“Did he, though? Well — there’s motive, sir.”
“Oh, rather. Money. The first motive, I always say,” agreed Alleyn.
“He’s just gone — Mason, I mean. I asked him about this Incorporated Playhouses. He said, quite frank, that he’d be the whole works now Meyer was out of it. ’Course, he would be frank about that. We’d find out, anyway. He made no trouble about our looking at the books, either, though I must say he didn’t seem too pleased when I sat down here and started going through the drawers.”
“That was Mr. Meyer’s desk, wasn’t it?” asked Alleyn.
“Yes, that’s right. I said: ‘This was deceased’s private property, like, I suppose?’ and he just nodded, and I must say he did look a bit sick. Kind of annoyed, too, as if he might go crook at me, any moment.”
“What, oh what,” wondered Alleyn, “is the fine shade of meaning attached to this word ‘crook’?” Aloud he asked:
“Have you been through the desk?”
“Not yet, sir. There’s a whale of a lot of stuff. All very neat and business-like, though. He actually carted round the desk itself. Can you beat that? Couldn’t do without it, Mason said. It’s not much of an affair, either. Seems deceased had it for years and reckoned it brought him luck. Very superstitious gang, theatricals. It’s a rickety old show, too.”
Wade reached down to a lower drawer and pulled at the knob.
“A real old-timer,” he said and gave it a vigorous jerk. The drawer shot out suddenly. He looked down.
“Hul-lo!” said Wade. “What’s this! What’s this!”
“It looks rather like a will,” said Alleyn.
Chapter IX
COURTNEY BROADHEAD’S SCENE
“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?”