“Well, if you will, Mr. Alleyn, do go and see Parsons,” said Nixon. “Wade will give you his address.”

Wade produced the address.

Parsons was staying at a boarding-house close to the theatre. Alleyn went there at once, and in an atmosphere of bamboo and aspidistra he had his talk with Hambledon’s dresser.

Bob Parsons was a wisp of a creature with a plaintive face that crinkled into a net of lines when he spoke. His forehead was so crossed with wrinkles that it looked as though it had been wrung out and left to dry and was badly in need of an iron. He had thin nondescript hair, a wide mouth, and a pair of very bright eyes. Alleyn liked the look of him and came directly to the point.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Parsons, but as I expect you will have heard, I am investigating this case in association with the local police. I want to ask you a few questions. I believe you may be able to help us very considerably.”

“Will you sit down, sir?”

“Thank you. Will you please tell me, as accurately as possible, what your movements were after Mr. Hambledon told you to go and get ready for the supper-party last night?”

“My movements, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I went into the passage, sir, and watched other people working.”

“Just for a change, what? You mean the stage-hands?”

“Correct, sir. I stood in the doorway watching the boys work overtime.”

“You could see most of the stage from the doorway, I suppose?’

“I could, yes.”

“I suppose you’ve no idea what the time was?”

“Yes. I have so, sir. It was ten-twenty-five.”

“Good Lord, how so accurate?”

“Always time the show, sir. I like to know how she runs. We rang down at ten-twenty-five, and I went straight to the dressing-room and Mr. Hambledon came straight off and told me to clear out. ‘You’ll want a clean swaller-and-sigh, sir,’ I said. ‘You’ve got No. 9 all over those.’ ‘Well, I can do that,’ he says, ‘and how about a clean collar and tie for yourself,’ he says. ‘What’s the time?’ So I told him the time—ten-twenty-six—and I went out.”

“How long were you in the passage?”

Bob screwed his face into a labyrinth of lines and thought for a moment.

“Well, sir, I rolled a fag and smoked it and I rolled another.”

“Whistling a bit, in between times?”