“Well, Mr. Alleyn. Any luck with the dresser?”

“Quite a purple patch.”

Alleyn related the gist of the information.

“By cripes!” said Wade. “That’s something to get our teeth into. How did the man strike you, sir? Reliable?”

“I think so. He’s a type that will disappear before long I’m afraid—the real undiluted cockney. Undersized, sharp as they make them, loyal, independent, and violently opinionated. You should hear him on the subject of Ackroyd. We’ll be able to check his statements, I think. I timed his cigarette—sixteen minutes—he had to keep re-lighting it. The whistled song took three minutes so that takes us to a quarter to eleven. He made and lit another cigarette, which he put out before joining the party—say three more minutes, which would mean twelve minutes to eleven when he left the passage. Now when everyone started asking for Miss Dacres, Mr. Meyer looked at his watch and said: ‘It’s ten to—time she was making an entrance,’ and about two minutes later she appeared. If Bob Parsons was in the passage all that time, she can’t have done it.”

“Unless he’s fixing an alibi for her, or for Hambledon.”

“We’ll have to check his statement, of course. But if all these people remember talking to him it’ll be good enough. Personally, I was favourably impressed with him.”

Wade stared solemnly at Alleyn and then swore violently.

“Good heavens, Wade, what’s the matter?’

“Here!” said Wade. “If all he said is right, it—Look here, Mr. Alleyn, don’t you see what it means?”

“Oh, rather, yes. It washes out the whole bang lot of ’em at one fell swoop. Tiresome for you. Unless of course the little window—”

“We’ll go right along and have a look at the little window. By gosh, talk about eliminating! This is a bit too sudden. What about Liversidge?”

“Bang he goes,” said Alleyn.

“Liversidge—with everything pointing that way! Not only that. Liversidge, Broadhead, the wife and Hambledon. Mason tied up with enough alibis to blow holes in a cast-iron case! Come on, sir. Come on. We’ll have a damn’ good look at this little window.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Business with Props

BUT THE LITTLE window at the back of the dressing-room passage turned out to be exactly as Bob had described it—dirty and gummed up with cobwebs—and Wade turned to Alleyn with an air of disgruntled incredulity.

“It’s a case of ‘where do we go for honey,’ isn’t it, Wade?” asked Alleyn smiling.

“I’ll see this Bob Parsons as soon as we get out of this,” said Wade. “If anyone’s squared him I’ll shake it out of him if I have to go at it all night.”