“You didn’t come out into the yard, at all?”

“Eh?—I—how d’you mean?”

“Just that, Mr. Ackroyd. You didn’t leave the stage before the party and walk along to the office?”

“Oh, God! Look here, old boy, I—I believe I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was only for a minute. Just to tell George people were beginning to come in.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before, Mr. Ackroyd?”

“Damn’ it all, I’d forgotten all about it.”

“But now you state definitely that you did come here?”

“Yes,” said Ackroyd uncomfortably.

“We’ll have to get a new statement to that effect,” said Wade. “Will you tell us exactly what happened, Mr. Ackroyd?”

“Just what I said. I came along and stood in the doorway there. I said: ‘The party’s started, George,’ and George said: ‘Right you are. I’ve got a job here and then I’ll be along,’ or something. The job he had seemed to be a perfectly good drink. Well, I passed a remark or two and went back to the party.”

“Was Mr. Mason alone?”

“What? No, I rather fancy the black quack was there.”

“Pardon?” asked Wade, genteelly. “Who did you say?”

“The black quack.”

“Can Mr. Ackroyd possibly mean Dr. Te Pokiha?” asked Alleyn of nobody in particular.

“You’d hardly think so, would you?” said Wade.

“Oh, no offence,” said Ackroyd. “I forgot there was no colour bar in this country. The light-brown medico was on-stage. That better?”

“You want to be very very careful when you make statements, Mr. Ackroyd,” said Wade austerely. “We’ll have to get you to sign a new one. Seems funny, you forgetting you came along here.”

“Why the hell!” shouted Ackroyd hotly. “What’s funny about it? Why should I remember? Don’t be silly.”

“Did you go straight back to the stage?”

“Yes, I did go straight back, I—hullo, George!”

George Mason’s unhappy face had appeared round the door.

“Hullo,” he mumbled. “Can I come in?”

“Come in, Mr. Mason,” said Wade. “Take a seat. You’re just the man we wanted to see. Do you remember Mr. Ackroyd, here, coming along to the office before the party?”

Mason passed his hand wearily over his forehead and slumped into a chair.

“Do I remember—? Yes, I do. Didn’t I tell you that? I’m sorry.”

“Quite all right. We just have to check up these little points. I don’t think I asked you, definitely. Cass, take Mr. Ackroyd along to his dressing-room and let him get anything he wants. Will you call in at the station between two and three this afternoon, Mr. Ackroyd? Thank you. Good morning.”

“And that,” said Ackroyd bitterly, “takes me right off. Good morning.”

When he had gone, Mason turned to Wade.

“Is there any mail here for me?” he asked.

“I think there is, Mr. Mason. We’ll let you have it.”