“Too right—and if he’s that sort—still, it doesn’t mean every manager that strands a company would do in his partner.”

“Indeed not. The routes of touring companies would have been strewn with managerial corpses, I’m afraid.”

“There’s the motive, though. You can’t get away from that, sir,” persisted Wade.

“Oh, rather not. There’s also the perfectly good alibi.”

“Don’t I know it? Oh, well, Miss Max seems O.K. as far as the two important times are concerned.”

“What’s happened to the dresser?” asked Alleyn.

“Oh, I saw her and the two Australians in the company and most of the staff soon after we got here. We just took statements and let them go. We’ve got their addresses. They’re out of the picture as you might say. The Australians have only just joined the company and the stage-hands are local men with good characters.”

“I know,” said Alleyn.

“How about having a pop at Mr. Liversidge, sir?”

“Who, me?”

“That’s right. Will you, sir?”

“At your service, Inspector.”

So Cass was dispatched to the wardrobe-room and returned with Mr. Frank Liversidge, who came in looking very beautiful. His black hair was varnished down to his head and resembled an American leather cap. His dinner-jacket, a thought too waisted, his boiled shirt, his rather large tie, were all in perfect order and so was Mr. Liversidge. As soon as he saw Alleyn he uttered a musical laugh and advanced with manly frankness.

“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Liversidge, in a dreadfully synthetic language that was so very nearly the right thing. “Who’d have thought it of you? I’ve maintained that you were an ambassador incog., and Val was all for the Secret Service.”

“Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid,” murmured Alleyn. “This is Inspector Wade, Mr. Liversidge. He has asked me to talk to you about one or two features of this business. Will you sit down?”

“Thanks,” said Liversidge gracefully. “So the Yard is coming into the show, is it?”

“By courtesy. Now, will you please give us an account of your movements after the final curtain tonight?”

“My movements?” He raised his eyebrows and took out his cigarette-case. All his actions were a little larger than life. Alleyn found himself thinking of them in terms of stage-craft. “Bus.—L. taps cigarette. Takes lighter from pocket. Lights cigarette with deliberation.”

“My movements,” repeated Liversidge, wafting smoke rings in Alleyn’s direction. “Let me see. Oh, I went to my dressing-room and demolished the war-paint.”

“Immediately after the final curtain?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“You found Mr. Vernon and Mr. Broadhead there?”

“Did I? Yes, I believe I did. It’s a big room. We share it.”

“They were on at the final curtain, of course?”

“We all take the call.”

“But they reached the dressing-room before you did?”