“Is that so?” said Wade. He regarded Alleyn solemnly. “Well now, sir, that’s very interesting. You might look at it this way. A young fellow who hasn’t got the cash to pay his debts suddenly pays them and when people get inquisitive he says he was given the money by someone who’s just been murdered.”

“Yes, that’s how Master Palmer put it,” said Alleyn.

“About the tiki,” said Wade after a pause. “I asked the Dacres wom—Mrs. Meyer where it was, and she said she gave it to someone before supper. Neither she nor Hambledon could remember anything about it according to themselves. Nor could Mr. Mason. Now there’s this Mason. I understand he comes in for the money. I suppose it’s a big estate, but you never know with theatricals. We’ll have to watch Mr. Mason.”

“Yes,” agreed Alleyn. “I watched him go green in the face just now. He got out just in time—only just.”

“He said something about that. When did it happen?”

“Just after I asked my question about the tiki.”

“Get this down,” said Wade to Cass.

Alleyn described Mr. Mason’s dilemma.

“So he went out, did he,” grunted Wade. “I’ll have something to say to young Packer about that. Too right, I will. Letting him out just because he kidded he felt crook. These blasted youngsters. It may have been one big bluff. What if Mason was the one who had the tiki last and suddenly remembered it? Say he kidded he was crook so’s he could see if he had it in his pockets? I’ll talk to young Packer.”

“Er—yes. Quite so,” agreed Alleyn, diffidently. “But I assure you, Wade, the gentleman would most certainly have been ill where he stood if Packer had restrained him. Judging from the lamentable sounds that reached us, he got no farther than the passage. I don’t think he escaped Packer’s eye, you know.”

“You mean,” said Wade with scriptural accuracy, “he vomited?”

“I do,” said Alleyn, “and to some purpose.”

“Then he wasn’t kidding he was crook?”

“He may be a crook, but why should he—”

“No, no. I mean, he wasn’t making out he felt crook.”

“I—I beg your pardon. No. I should say definitely not.”

“Ugh!” grunted Wade.

“Of course,” said Alleyn mildly, “he may have palmed a piece of soap and eaten it on the sly in order to make himself sick. But no—he didn’t foam at the mouth.”

“I wonder what’s the strength of this Firm of theirs—Incorporated Playhouses, or whatever they call it. Any idea, sir?”

“When Mason went out they all began talking about it. One of them—Ackroyd, I think—remarked that Mr. Mason would be a very wealthy man.”

“Did he, though? Well—there’s motive, sir.”

“Oh, rather. Money. The first motive, I always say,” agreed Alleyn.