“Holborn Empire! Ten years. I was first fiddle, sir.” Mr. Singleton went through an elaborate pantomime of drawing a bow across the strings of an imaginary violin. “You wouldn’t think it to look at me now,” he added truthfully. “I have fallen into the sere and yellow, Chief Inspector. I am declined into the vale of years. I am a fixed figure for the time of scorn to point his slow unmoving finger at. Yurrahumph!” He coughed unpleasantly and spat. “You would not credit it, Superintendent Alleyn, if I were to tell you I played the Moor for six months to capacity business.”

As Alleyn really could not credit it, he contented himself with making a consolatory noise.

“Shakespeare!” ejaculated Mr. Singleton, removing his hat. “The Swan of Stratford-on-Sea! The Bard!”

“Nobody like him, is there?” said Alleyn cheerfully. “Well, Mr. Singleton, you’re about to take the stage again. I want you to tell us all about last night.”

“Last night of all when that same star did entertain her guests. An improvisation, Chief Constable, based on the Bard. Last night. I could a tale unfold would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood. As a matter of fact I am unable to do any such thing. Last night I merely discharged my degrading duties as a doorkeeper in the house of the ungodly, and repaired to my lonely attic.”

He paused and blew his nose on an unspeakable handkerchief. Wade slipped behind, him and gave a spirited imitation of someone draining a glass to the dregs.

“You kept a list of the guests, I understand, and checked off the names as they came in.”

Mr. Singleton drew a piece of paper from his bosom and handed it to Alleyn with a slight bow.

“To witness if I lie,” he explained grandly.

It was the list. Alleyn glanced at it and returned to the job.

“Did Mr. Ackroyd come out some time before the party?”

“Ackroyd, Ackroyd, Ackroyd. Let me see, let me see, let me see. Ackroyd. The comedian. Yes! Ackroyd came out.”

“You did not mention this to Mr. Wade.”

“I take my stand on that document!” said Mr. Singleton magnificently.

“Quite so. How long was Mr. Ackroyd away?”

“He returned in the twinkling of an eye.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I am constant as the northern star,” said Mr. Singleton, stifling a slight hiccough. “Ackroyd eggzited and re-entered immediately. He went to the door of the office. He appeared to address those within. He returned.”

“You watched him?”

“With the very comment of my soul. Would it astonish you to learn that I played the Dane before—”

“Did you really? Mr. George Mason came out of the office some time before that, I believe?”

“George Mason, George! The manager. He did. I have already made a statement to this effect, I believe, Mr. Wade?”

“That’s right, Joe, but Mr. Alleyn just wants to check up.”

Mr. Singleton inclined his head.