“Yes, sir, he did, and very surprised he was when he heard who you were. I sent him after you, Mr. Alleyn, and he saw you go into the Middleton so we left you to it. I’ve just been asking Mr. Weston if he could give us an idea why Mr. Palmer slipped up on us.” And Wade glanced uncomfortably at Weston, edged round behind him, and made an eloquent grimace at Alleyn.

Alleyn thought he had never seen any face that expressed as little as Geoffrey Weston’s. It was an example of the dead norm in faces. It was neither good-looking nor plain, it had no distinguishing feature and no marked characteristic. It would be impossible to remember it with any degree of sharpness. It was simply a face.

“And why did he bolt, do you suppose?” asked Alleyn.

“Because he’s a fool,” said Mr. Weston.

“Oh, rather,” agreed Alleyn. “No end of a fool; but even fools have motives. Why did he bolt? What was he afraid of?”

“He’s run away from disagreeable duties,” said Weston, with unexpected emphasis, “ever since he could toddle. He ran away from three schools. He’s got no guts.”

“He displayed a good deal of mistaken effrontery in the wardrobe-room, when he as good as accused Courtney Broadhead of theft.”

“Egged on,” said Weston.

“By Liversidge?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe the story about Broadhead, Mr. Weston?”

“Not interested.”

“Did you speak of it to Mr. Palmer?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In the wardrobe-room, after you’d gone.”

“You must have been very quiet about it.”

“I was.”

“What did you say?” pursued Alleyn, and to himself he murmured: “Oyster, oyster, oyster! Open you shall.”

“Told him he’d be locked up for defamation of character.”

“Splendid. Did it frighten him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he bolted to avoid further questioning?”

“Yes.”

“It’s all so simple,” said Alleyn pleasantly, “when you understand.”

Weston merely stared at his boots.

“I suppose,” continued Alleyn, “that you had heard all about the arrangements for the champagne business?”

“Knew nothing about it.”

“Mr. Palmer?”

“No.”

“Can you help us about the missing tiki?”

“Afraid I can’t.”

“All, well,” said Alleyn, “that’s about all, I fancy. Unless you’ve anything further, Inspector?”

“No, sir, I have not,” said Wade, with a certain amount of emphasis. “We’ll see the young gentleman in the morning.”

“That all?” asked Weston, getting to his feet. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Weston.”

“I’ll push off. Good night.”

He walked out and they heard his footsteps die away before any of them spoke.

“He’s a fair nark, that chap,” said Wade. “Close! Gosh!”

“Not exactly come-toish,” agreed Alleyn.

“Blooming oyster! Well, that’s the whole boiling of ’em now, sir.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn thankfully.