CHAPTER TWENTY

Exit Liversidge.
Enter Bob Parsons (Whistling)

AS SOON AS he had put Carolyn into the lift, Alleyn glanced into the writing-room. Should he try and get off a couple of letters for the English mail, or should he look up Wade and give him an account of the interview with Carolyn? He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, and then noticed George Mason, bent over one of the writing-tables, hard at work. Alleyn strolled across and seated himself at a neighboring desk.

“Oh, hullo,” said Mason abstractedly. “Have a nice day?”

Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly burst into a recital of his woes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Alleyn. I’m all anyhow. I don’t know what to tell our advance to do—whether to go on with the tour or cancel everything. And there’s all the English end to attend to. I’m going crazy just with not knowing. How long do you think they’ll keep us here, for God’s sake?”

“Things are looking a bit clearer ahead now,” said Alleyn. “The local men seem to be very efficient.”

“It’s awful to be worrying about the business side of it with old Alf—Well, there it is. The whole thing’s so damn’ beastly. Everybody wondering about everybody else. No use mincing matters. Someone did it. It’s this blasted uncertainty.”

“I know,” said Alleyn. “I say, Mason, you know I’ve taken a hand in it, don’t you?”

“Yes. Very glad to hear it.”

“Well, look here, I’m going to ask you a question in confidence.” Mason looked alarmed. “You needn’t answer if you don’t want to, but it’d help matters a lot if you could tell me one thing.”

“Can but ask.”

“Right. Did Mr. Meyer know who took Miss Gaynes’s money?”

Mason stared at him like a dyspeptic owl.

“Matter of fact, he did,” he said at last.

“You know who it was?”

“Alfred told me,” said Mason uncomfortably. “It was a question of what we’d do. Damned awkward in the beginning of a tour like this.”

“Yes. Will you tell me who it was?”

Mason eyed him unhappily but shrewdly.

“What’ll it lead to? Look here, Alleyn, you’re not trying to link up the theft and the murder, are you?”

“Personally, I long to disassociate them.”

“By Jove!” said Mason slowly. “I—wonder.”

“When did Mr. Meyer guess who took the money?”

“Oh, Lor’—he saw it happen.”

“Did he, indeed! Come now, put it to you, as our learned friends say. I’ll put one name to you, and one name only. If I’m wrong, let it drop. I promise not to go on.”

“All right!” agreed Mason, looking rather relieved.

“Liversidge?”

There was a long silence.

“Oh, Lor’,” repeated Mason, “I thought you were going to say Broadhead. After young Palmer’s display, you know.”