“Of course I didn’t. Wouldn’t I be asking you to go after them if I had? Look here, Inspector, had that gear been interfered with? I’d like to go up and take a look at it.”

“You’d find no difference, Mr. Gascoigne,” said Wade.

“But I tell you,” said Gascoigne violently, “there must have been some funny business—there must have been.”

“Now listen, sir,” said Wade. “When everybody left the stage at Chief-Inspector Alleyn’s suggestion—”

“What! Chief-Inspector how much?” ejaculated Gascoigne.

Wade explained.

“Here!” said Gascoigne. “Is there anything fishy about our company? Have you been tailing round after us, Mr. Alleyn? What’s the idea of all this?”

“I’m on a holiday,” explained Alleyn apologetically, “and I’ve not been tailing anybody at all, Mr. Gascoigne.”

“So you say,” muttered Gascoigne.

“It’s true,” said Alleyn. “S’welp me.”

“Now, Mr. Gascoigne,” continued Wade doggedly, “when they all left the stage after the accident, what did you do?”

“I stayed put. I wanted to go up and look at the gear, but Mr.—Inspector—Alleyn said wait for the police. Why didn’t you tell us who you were then?”

“It would have been in doubtful taste, don’t you think?” asked Alleyn. “You remained on the stage, until the arrival of the police, I think?”

“Yes, I did,” said Gascoigne.

Wade glanced at Alleyn.

“Well, Mr. Gascoigne, I think that’s all I want to know just now. You’re staying—where?”

“The Railway Hotel.”

“Good-oh, sir. Perhaps you’d look in at the station tomorrow. The inquest—” Wade shepherded Gascoigne out and came back looking worried.

“I reckon,” he said, “we can cross him off unless there’s been any collusion. He met us at the door and you left him on the stage. He never had a chance to go up into the grid. Seems to me that the point we want to get at is what they all did when they left the stage. Isn’t that right, sir?”