Color Scheme

He smiled apologetically and took the tip of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I saw,” he said, “that the clod of displaced earth, or solidified mud as I believe it to be, had split away from the iron flag standard. I could see the groove made by the standard in the broken section of the bank. The heel marks made by the famous nailed boot were immediately behind it, as well as on the clod itself. These suggested a possibility that the heel stabs had been used with the object of loosening the standard rather than dislodging the clod. If one kicked at such a standard in the dark one would make a few dud shots. The standard itself lay a little distance away from the clod. They had both fallen on a narrow shelf of firm ground at the edge of the cauldron.

“Both flag and path were intact when we went to the concert. Of the returning party nobody remembers seeing the flag but, on the other hand, nobody remembers seeing the gap in the path.

But Colonel Claire, who was the last to go through before the tragedy, tells us he fell when he reached the top of the mound.”

“Eh?” said the Colonel with one of his galvanic starts. “Fell? Yes. Yes, I fell.”

“Is it possible, Colonel, that you trod on the clod already loosened by the removal of the flag and that it gave way beneath you, causing you to stumble forward?”

“Wait a bit,” said the Colonel. “Let’s think.”

He shut his eyes and screwed up his face. His moustache twitched busily.

“While Edward is lost in contemplation,” said Dr. Ackrington, “I should like to point out to you, Falls, that if your theory is correct, the flag was removed after we had entered the hall.”

“Yes.”

“And it was intended, originally, that we should all crowd into Gaunt’s car for the return journey.”

“A point well taken,” said Mr. Falls.

“And that the half-caste fellow left the hall during the performance.”

“Returning in time to hear Mr. Gaunt’s masterly presentation of the Saint Crispin’s Eve speech.”

“The speech before Agincourt, wasn’t it?”

“We shall see. Yes, Colonel?”

The Colonel had opened his eyes and relaxed his moustache. “Yes,” he said. “That’s what it was. Astonishin’ I didn’t think of it before. The ground gave way. By George, I might have gone over, you know. What?”

“A most fortunate escape,” said Mr. Falls gravely. “Well now, gentlemen — I have almost done. It seems to me that only one explanation will agree with all the facts I have mentioned. Questing’s murderer was a man with hobnailed boots. He threw the boots into Taupo-tapu. He had visited the Peak, for the boots correspond with Bell’s sketch of the prints. He had access to the reserve during the concert. He knew Questing was colour-blind, and was most anxious that we should not discover this fact. He was an enemy agent and Questing knew it. Now what figure in our cast fits all these conditions?”

“Eru Saul,” said Dr. Ackrington.

“No,” said Falls. “Herbert Smith.” iv

It was Simon who was making the greatest outcry: Simon protesting that Bert Smith wouldn’t hurt a fly, that he couldn’t have done it, that he had tried to join up, that he was all right as long as he kept off the liquor. It was Simon who, with a helpless slackening of his voice, repeated that Falls had no right to bring this accusation and, finally, that Falls did it to protect himself. The Colonel and Dr. Ackrington tried to silence him, Webley attempted to get him out of the room, but he held his ground and in the end he talked himself to a standstill. His lips trembled, he made a gesture of relinquishment. Like an exhausted child, he stumbled clumsily to a seat, beat on the table with his fists, and at last was silent.

“Smith!” said Gaunt. “Lord, what an anticlimax! They must be hard-up for cogs in the fifth-column set-up in this country if they found a job for Smith.”

“I’m afraid he is a very small cog,” replied Falls.

The Colonel said: “He’s been with us for years.”

“I am not entirely convinced,” said Dr. Ackrington importantly. “How are you so damned positive that Smith knew Questing was colour-blind? He may have believed the story of the sun-screen.”

“He was never told that story. According to Smith, Questing drove him to the crossing and showed him the light through the screen, which Smith said was green but which, as you see, is yellow. He’s not colour-blind, you know; he knew Questing wrote with green ink. The sun-screen story was invented after the murder, for our benefit. He had to explain why he had suddenly become friendly with Questing. He had to produce his precious letter. Above all things, we mustn’t know of Questing’s defective sight. His insistence, this morning, that Questing must have been right about the colour of Eru Saul’s shirt is only ex plicable in that light. Of course Questing gave Smith the real explanation of his failure to see the signal. Questing agreed to keep him quiet, and incidentally used him as a go-between in his curio hunts. All went well until Questing discovered him on the Peak and accused him of espionage. The goose that laid the golden eggs had to be killed.”

“Then the Maori theme,” said Dikon. “Eru Saul, the stolen adze, and the violation of tapu, were all subsidiary factors?”

“In a way, yes. Eru Saul told me that when he returned to the concert, after going for a drink with Smith, he heard Mr. Gaunt recite a speech about ‘old dug-outs being asleep while him and the boys waited for the balloon to go up.’ This seemed to me to be a recognizable paraphrase of ‘gentlemen in England now a-bed,’ which is part of the Saint Crispin speech. But Smith told us that as he returned to the hall he heard Mr. Gaunt shout a sentence which he rendered as: ‘Once more into the blasted breeches, pals.’ Unmistakably the opening line of the Agincourt speech, the last item in Mr. Gaunt’s recital, which he gave only after prolonged and enthusiastic demands for an encore.”

“Bert wouldn’t know,” Simon said. “He wouldn’t know. It’s all one to Bert.”

“There is a time lag of some five or six minutes between the begi

“I think so,” said Gaunt automatically.

“Time enough for Smith to re-enter the doorway with his companions and, while all eyes were focussed on you, to slip out again and run to the reserve. Time enough, when he could not wrench it out, for him to kick the standard until it was loosened, and then drop it over the edge. Time enough to think of the evidence left by his boots and throw them overboard. Time enough to run back to the hall and be standing there, close by his friends, when the lights went up.” He turned to Simon. “You were with him after the concert?” Simon nodded. “Did you notice his feet?” Simon shook his head.

“Mr. Gaunt’s man was with you, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Could we speak to him, I wonder?”

Webley nodded to the man at the door. He went out and returned with Colly.

“Colly,” said Mr. Falls. “What sort of boots was Mr. Smith wearing when you went home last night?”

“Not boots at all, sir,” said Colly instantly. “Soft shoes.”

“Did you walk over to the hall with him before the concert?”

“Yessir. We went over early with extra chairs.”

“Was he wearing shoes then?” Webley demanded.

Colly jumped and said: “You’re that small, Inspector, I never see you. No, he was wearing boots then. ’E took ’is shoes in ’is pocket, ’case we finished up with a dance.”

“Did he carry his boots home?” asked Webley.

“I never see them,” said Colly, and looked uneasy.

“O.K.”

Colly glanced unhappily at Simon and went out.

Webley walked over to the man at the door.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“In his room, Mr. Webley. We’re watching it.”

“Come on, then,” said Webley, and they went out, their boots making a heavy trampling sound that died away in the direction of Smith’s room.