‘I wouldn’t put it past them! Well — if you want to fix it nearer home, I’d say your best bet was Alex Restarick.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He had the opportunity. He drove up through the grounds alone in his car.’

‘And why should he kill Christian Gulbrandsen?’

Walter shrugged his shoulders.

‘I’m a stranger. I don’t know the family set-ups. Maybe the old boy had heard something about Alex and was going to spill the beans to the Serrocolds.’

‘With what results?’

‘They might cut off the dough. He can use dough — uses a good deal of it by all accounts.’

‘You mean — in theatrical enterprises?’

‘That’s what he calls it?’

‘Do you suggest it was otherwise?’

Again Walter Hudd shrugged his shoulders.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said.

Chapter 13

I

Alex Restarick was voluble. He also gestured with his hands.

‘I know, I know! I’m the ideal suspect. I drive down here alone and on the way to the house, I get a creative fit. I can’t expect you to understand. How should you?’

‘I might,’ Curry put in drily, but Alex Restarick swept on.

‘It’s just one of those things! They come upon you there’s no knowing when or how. An effect — an idea — and everything else goes to the winds! I’m producing Limehouse Nights next month. Suddenly — last night — the set-up was wonderful…The perfect lighting. Fog — and the headlights cutting through the fog and being thrown back — and reflecting dimly a tall pile of buildings. Everything helped! The shots — the running footsteps — and the chug-chugging of the electric power engine — could have been a launch on the Thames. And I thought — that’s it — but what am I going to use to get just these effects? — and — ’

Inspector Curry broke in.

‘You heard shots? Where?’

‘Out of the fog, Inspector.’ Alex waved his hands in the air — plump well-kept hands. ‘Out of the fog. That was the wonderful part about it.’

‘It didn’t occur to you that anything was wrong?’

‘Wrong? Why should it?’

‘Are shots such a usual occurrence?’

‘Ah, I knew you wouldn’t understand! The shots fitted into the scene I was creating. I wanted shots. Danger — opium — crazy business. What did I care what they were really? Backfires from a lorry on the road? A poacher after rabbits?’

‘They snare rabbits mostly round here.’

Alex swept on:

‘A child letting off fireworks? I didn’t even think about them as — shots. I was in Limehouse — or rather at the back of the stalls — looking at Limehouse.’

‘How many shots?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Alex petulantly. ‘Two or three. Two close together, I do remember that.’

Inspector Curry nodded.

‘And the sound of running footsteps, I think you said? Where were they?’

‘They came to me out of the fog. Somewhere near the house.’

Inspector Curry said gently:

‘That would suggest that the murderer of Christian Gulbrandsen came from outside.’