‘There were several, sir.’

‘Could you describe them?’

‘Afraid not, sir. One was Mr Geoffrey Parnell. And there was a young fellow, Sam Baker, with his young lady. I didn’t notice anybody else particular.’

‘A pity. That’ll do, Jameson.’

‘Yes sir.’

The commissionaire saluted and departed.

‘The medical details we’ve got,’ said Colonel Anderson. ‘We’d better have the fellow that found him next.’

A police constable came in and saluted.

‘Mr Hercule Poirot’s here, sir, and another gentleman.’

Inspector Crome frowned.

‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘Better have ’em in, I suppose.’

Chapter 27

The Doncaster Murder

Coming in hard on Poirot’s heels, I just caught the fag end of Inspector Crome’s remark.

Both he and the Chief Constable were looking worried and depressed.

Colonel Anderson greeted us with a nod of the head.

‘Glad you’ve come, M. Poirot,’ he said politely. I think he guessed that Crome’s remark might have reached our ears. ‘We’ve got it in the neck again, you see.’

‘Another A B C murder?’

‘Yes. Damned audacious bit of work. Man leaned over and stabbed the fellow in the back.’

‘Stabbed this time?’

‘Yes, varies his methods a bit, doesn’t he? Biff on the head, strangled, now a knife. Versatile devil—what? Here are the medical details if you care to see ’em.’

He shoved a paper towards Poirot. ‘A B C down on the floor between the dead man’s feet,’ he added.

‘Has the dead man been identified?’ asked Poirot.

‘Yes. A B C’s slipped up for once—if that’s any satisfaction to us. Deceased’s a man called Earlsfield—George Earlsfield. Barber by profession.’

‘Curious,’ commented Poirot.

‘May have skipped a letter,’ suggested the colonel.

My friend shook his head doubtfully.

‘Shall we have in the next witness?’ asked Crome. ‘He’s anxious to get home.’

‘Yes, yes—let’s get on.’

A middle-aged gentleman strongly resembling the frog footman in Alice in Wonderland was led in. He was highly excited and his voice was shrill with emotion.

‘Most shocking experience I have ever known,’ he squeaked. ‘I have a weak heart, sir—a very weak heart, it might have been the death of me.’

‘Your name, please,’ said the inspector.

‘Downes. Roger Emmanuel Downes.’

‘Profession?’

‘I am a master at Highfield School for boys.’

‘Now, Mr Downes, will you tell us in your own words what happened.’

‘I can tell you that very shortly, gentlemen. At the close of the performance I rose from my seat. The seat on my left was empty but in the one beyond a man was sitting, apparently asleep. I was unable to pass him to get out as his legs were stuck out in front of him. I asked him to allow me to pass. As he did not move I repeated my request in—a—er—slightly louder tone. He still made no response. I then took him by the shoulder to waken him. His body slumped down further and I became aware that he was either unconscious or seriously ill. I called out: “This gentleman is taken ill. Fetch the commissionaire.” The commissionaire came. As I took my hand from the man’s shoulder I found it was wet and red…I can assure you, gentlemen, the shock was terrific! Anything might have happened! For years I have suffered from cardiac weakness—’