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“Well?” said Nigel.
“Unless the person who made them was sitting astride the ba
“Then whose—?”
“We next turned our attention to the outer border of the bottom of the ba
“But how could anyone get their hand through the rails, and why should they?”
“It was not the print of a hand, but of a naked foot, a foot that had just brushed the wood as its owner slid down the ba
Alleyn stopped speaking.
“Well,” ventured Nigel with shaky facetiousness. “Am I now supposed to know the answer?”
Alleyn looked at him with a curious air of compassion.
“Not even yet?” he said.
“Whose were the prints?”
“That I am not going to tell you. Oh, believe me, Bathgate, not out of any desire to figure as the mysterious omnipotent detective. That would be impossibly vulgar. No. I am not telling you because there is still that bit of my brain that ca
“Yes,” answered Nigel, surprised
“Then I am afraid the result is going to come as a shock to you. For that reason I have told you this much. I have enjoyed your companionship, Bathgate,” ended the Chief Inspector with one of those curious twists of formality that Nigel had grown accustomed to. “Perhaps we may have a final talk together — afterwards.”
“I shall insist on it,” Nigel assured him.
“Well! Do one last job of work for me. Will you play the murderer’s part in the play within the play and help me to trick this shadowy figure into betraying itself?”
“I must say—” said Nigel coldly.
“Ah! you don’t care to do it. It is detestable to you. I hate illogical sentimentality. It is so conceited.”
There was a note of bitterness in Alleyn’s voice that Nigel had not heard before.
“You don’t understand—” he began.
“I think I do. For you it’s all over. Rankin was your cousin; you have had a shock. You have also, you must confess, enjoyed the part you have played up to date in helping to round up a bunch of mad Russians. But now, when a criminal who is prepared — even schemes — to let an i
“You’re unfair,” said Nigel angrily.
“Am I? Well, don’t let’s quarrel. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind asking Bunce, who is out on the drive, to report to me. I am afraid that it is part of my schedule that you should witness, with the others, this final scene. Your train goes in half an hour.”
Nigel walked to the door. “I’ll tell Bunce,” he volunteered.
“Thank you,” said Alleyn wearily.
“And,” continued Nigel rather indistinctly, “I still think you are unfair, Alleyn, but if you like, if you’ll allow me to — I’ll do whatever you suggest to help.”
Alleyn’s singularly charming smile lightened his eyes for a moment.
“All right,” he said. “Sorry! I’m a bundle of nerves at the moment, and I do so hate murders. Perhaps someone else will do, after all. Come back with the bluebottle and I’ll explain.”
Nigel found Bunce, P.C., staring disconsolately at a dead chrysanthemum in a border by the side lawn.
“Chief Inspector-Detective Alleyn wants you in the study,” said Nigel, enjoying the rhymic sequence of the titles and name.
“Oh!” said Bunce, rousing himself. “Thank you, sir, I’ll come along. It’ll be a bit of a change after these urbashus borders. I’m not a great nature-lover myself.”
“No?”
“No. Altogether too ’ap’azard to my way of thinking. Sloppy. That’s Nature. Well, I’ll be shifting.”
“I’m coming too,” said Nigel, and they returned in silence to the study.
Alleyn was standing by the fireplace examining a revolver. He slipped it into his pocket.
“Bunce,” he said crisply, “have a man outside the front door in ten minutes’ time, another in the drawing-room and a third here. The members of the household will then be assembled in the hall. Keep your wits about you and your ears well open. When you hear me say, ‘Now, let us begin,’ come very quietly into the hall and keep the person, of whom I have already informed you, under observation. I expect no trouble, but — well, the quieter the better. The arrest will probably take place immediately. By the way, I shall want you to impersonate the victim as you did during the first reconstruction.”
Bunce’s eye lightened.
“Very good, sir. ’Ead first into the gong as usual, I presoom?”
“Yes, Bunce. You may retain your helmet if you like.”
“ ’Ardly artistic would it be, sir? I shan’t notice the blow in my excitement.”
“As you please. Very well then, off you go. Place your men now, will you, and don’t discuss anything. That clear?”
“Abundantly, sir,” ejaculated Bunce. He turned about smartly and left the room by the French window.
“Now, Bathgate,” said Alleyn, “I shall make certain of everybody being in the hall in half an hour. The cars will be outside to take you all to the station. Miss Angela has just returned so we shall be complete — with the exception of the Russians of course. By the way, Bathgate, can you slide down ba