“One of the very best,” said Susan energetically. “The right type of manager, and there aren’t many of them left in the business. Always the same to everybody. Devoted to her.”
Alleyn remembered the pale commonplace little man, who had been so quiet in the ship and so frightened on the train.
“And she to him?” he asked.
Old Susan glanced at Cass and Wade.
“Very,” she said dryly.
“We’ve got to learn the truth, you know,” said Alleyn gently. “We’ll have to pry and pry. It’s one of the most revolting aspects of a murder-case, and the victim is sometimes the greatest sufferer.”
“Then it is murder?”
“I’m afraid so.”
There was a long silence.
“Well,” said old Susan at last, “it’s no good making mysteries where there are none. She was very fond of Meyer. Not perhaps in a romantic fashion, exactly. He wasn’t a figure for romance. But she was fond of him. You might say she felt safe with him.”
“And Hambledon?” asked Alleyn quietly.
Susan squared her fat shoulders and stared straight in front of her.
“If you mean anything scandalous, my dear, there’s not a word of truth in it. Not a morsel. Mind, I don’t say Hailey isn’t devoted to her. He is, and has been for years, and he makes no bones about it. I’ve been with the Firm off and on for a long time and I know. But there’s been no funny business between them, and don’t let anybody tell you there has.”
“They’ve been trying,” said Alleyn. Susan suddenly slapped her hands on her lap.
“Ackroyd!” she cried.
“It was, but don’t say so.”
“I’ll be bound. Little beast. He’s never forgiven her — never.”
“For what?”
“It was when he rejoined us for the revival of Our Best Intentions—a year ago it was. He’s the type that always hangs round the leading woman and tries to go big with the management. You can smell ’em a mile off. Well, he tried it on with Carolyn Dacres and believe me it took him right off,” said Susan, becoming technical. “As soon as the funny business started she was well up-stage and Mr. Ackroyd made a quiet exit with no rounds of applause. He’s a spiteful little beast and he’s never forgiven her or Hailey. Hailey actually spoke to him about it, you know. I believe George Mason did, too. He’s never forgotten it. You heard how he spoke about George to-night. Dragging in that American business.”
“Nothing in it?”
“My dear,” said Susan resignedly, “I dare say something did happen. I rather think it did, but if we knew all the circumstances I’ve no doubt we’d find faults on both sides. George Mason started in a small way and he’s not the only one, by a long chalk, that’s got an incident of that sort to live down. My advice to you is, forget all about it. Whatever happened in the early days, he’s an honest man now. I’ve worked for him for a good many years and you can take my word for it. And what’s more, I wouldn’t say the same for Ackroyd.”
“I see,” said Alleyn.
“Anything more?” asked Susan.
“I don’t think so. Thank you so much. Perhaps Inspector Wade—”
“No thanks, sir, no thanks,” said Wade, getting up from the desk where he had sat in silence. “Unless — the train—?”
“Miss Max sat opposite me. She slept all the time, I fancy.”
“The train!” ejaculated Susan.
Alleyn explained.
“Yes,” said Susan, “I was asleep. Do you mean you think that business on the train had something to do with this?”
“Who can tell?” murmured Alleyn vaguely. “You’re longing to get home to your bed, aren’t you?”
“Well, I am.”
She hitched herself off the chair and waddled to the door. Alleyn opened it. She stood, a roundabout and lonely little figure, looking up at him very earnestly.
“In that other case in London someone nearly killed you by dropping a chandelier from the grid, didn’t they?”
“So they did.”
“You don’t think it’s — it’s given anyone an idea?”
Alleyn stared at her.
“I wonder,” he said.
Chapter XII
LIVERSIDGE FLUFFS HIS LINES
“What was she driving at?” asked Wade when Susan had gone.
“Oh — the Gardener case. A neurotic property-man dumped half a ton of candelabra on the stage in a childish attempt to distract my attention. Later on he became victim No. 2, poor booby. Knew too much. It all came out in the evidence. I imagine they take a lot of trouble when men are working aloft. I remember the stage-manager told me the hands always have their tools tied to their wrists, in case of accidents.”
“Well, sir, you got some nice little bits out of the old lady. Of course her being a friend made a difference.”
“Of course,” agreed Alleyn cordially.
“Do you reckon there’s anything in this story of Ackroyd’s about Mason stranding a company in America?”
“I am inclined to agree with Miss Max’s opinion of Ackroyd as a witness, but we’d better look into Mr. Mason’s history, of course. I’ll get them to do that at the Yard.”
“Ackroyd means Mason walked out and left his company cold?”
“Yes. Not an unusual proceeding with small companies, I fancy, in the old days. A dirty trick, of course.”
“Too right — and if he’s that sort — still, it doesn’t mean every manager that strands a company would do in his partner.”
“Indeed not. The routes of touring companies would have been strewn with managerial corpses, I’m afraid.”
“There’s the motive, though. You can’t get away from that, sir,” persisted Wade.
“Oh, rather not. There’s also the perfectly good alibi.”
“Don’t I know it? Oh, well, Miss Max seems O.K. as far as the two important times are concerned.”
“What’s happened to the dresser?” asked Alleyn.
“Oh, I saw her and the two Australians in the company and most of the staff soon after we got here. We just took statements and let them go. We’ve got their addresses. They’re out of the picture as you might say. The Australians have only just joined the company and the stage-hands are local men with good characters.”
“I know,” said Alleyn.
“How about having a pop at Mr. Liversidge, sir?”
“Who, me?”
“That’s right. Will you, sir?”
“At your service, Inspector.”
So Cass was dispatched to the wardrobe-room and returned with Mr. Frank Liversidge, who came in looking very beautiful. His black hair was varnished down to his head and resembled an American leather cap. His dinner-jacket, a thought too waisted, his boiled shirt, his rather large tie, were all in perfect order and so was Mr. Liversidge. As soon as he saw Alleyn he uttered a musical laugh and advanced with manly frankness.
“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Liversidge, in a dreadfully synthetic language that was so very nearly the right thing. “Who’d have thought it of you? I’ve maintained that you were an ambassador incog., and Val was all for the Secret Service.”
“Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid,” murmured Alleyn. “This is Inspector Wade, Mr. Liversidge. He has asked me to talk to you about one or two features of this business. Will you sit down?”
“Thanks,” said Liversidge gracefully. “So the Yard is coming into the show, is it?”
“By courtesy. Now, will you please give us an account of your movements after the final curtain tonight?”
“My movements?” He raised his eyebrows and took out his cigarette-case. All his actions were a little larger than life. Alleyn found himself thinking of them in terms of stage-craft. “Bus.—L. taps cigarette. Takes lighter from pocket. Lights cigarette with deliberation.”