implied some sort of criticism of himself. He was rather on the defensive about it.’
Doctor Young unexpectedly uttered his throaty comment—‘Kaahoom’—and Alleyn smiled.
‘What did you say to all this?’ he asked.
Arthur Wilde rumpled up his hair. ‘I told him not to be an ass,’ he said. ‘Charles was always rather touchy—it was characteristic. I tried to explain how a knife associated, as Doctor Tokareff believed, with the innermost ritual of a bratsvo, would naturally have more significance to a Russian than to an Englishman. He soon got over his huff and said he quite saw my point. Then we chaffed each other about the Murder Game and I left him.’
‘Any more questions?’ asked Alleyn.
There were none apparently.
‘I realize,’ said Wilde, ‘that I was probably the last person—except Mary and the man who killed him—to see Charles alive. I hope very much that if anyone does think of any questions they would like to put, they will not hesitate in asking them.’
‘I should like to say,’ said Nigel, ‘that I can corroborate most of what you have said. I left you with Charles and heard you come up a few minutes later. You remember we shouted out to each other while your bath was running and afterwards when the lights went out. I can state positively that you were in the bathroom before, during, and after the time when the crime was committed.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Marjorie Wilde, ‘and you called through to me, too, Arthur.’
‘Your rooms were all close together?’ asked Alleyn.
Nigel sketched out a rough plan of the four rooms and slid it across the table to him.
‘I see,’ said the inspector, and looked carefully at it. ‘I am sure you all appreciate,’ he said a moment later, ‘the importance of establishing Mr Wilde’s account of his movements. They have already been corroborated by Mrs Wilde and Mr Bathgate. Can anyone else bring forward any point that bears on the relative positions of these three after Mr Wilde came upstairs?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Wilde eagerly, ‘I can. When I was in my room dressing, Florence, Angela’s maid, came in to ask if she could help me. She stayed a few moments—not long—but she must have heard Arthur calling out and everything—the door into the bathroom wasn’t shut properly.’
‘She will be able to verify this herself, of course,’ said the inspector. ‘We have now a fairly complete picture of the movements of three of the house-party from shortly after seven-thirty until the time of the murder. Mrs Wilde went upstairs first, Mr Bathgate second, and Mr Wilde last. They were all calling out to each other while they were dressing, and their voices were probably heard by a housemaid. Mr Bathgate, I understand that you were the first downstairs after the alarm was given and that you turned up the lights?’
Nigel’s thoughts had been wandering along a strange byway opened up by Mrs Wilde’s eager corroboration of her husband’s story. He pulled himself together and looked at the inspector. It struck him that the official manner came easily enough to Alleyn when he chose to assume it.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes—I turned on the lights.’
‘You found your way downstairs after the two minutes had elapsed?’
‘Yes, the others were behind me on the stairs.’
‘You got to the main switch and turned it on immediately?’
‘Not immediately. The others were calling out from the stairs. I hesitated for a second.’
‘Why?’ asked Rosamund Grant.
‘I really can’t say. It was all rather strange and I felt—I don’t know—somehow reluctant. Then Sir Hubert called out and I pulled down the switch.’
‘You were talking to Mr Wilde right up to the time you left your room?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur Wilde, with a friendly glance towards him, ‘you were.’
‘Did you speak to anyone when you were on the landing?’
‘I don’t remember. Everyone was talking in the dark there. I struck a match.’
‘Yes,’ said Angela quickly, ‘he struck a match. I was farther along the passage and saw his face suddenly lit up from beneath. He must have been just outside his room then.’
‘Mr Bathgate,’ said the detective, ‘your match was still alight, wasn’t it, as you went downstairs?’
‘Yes. It went out about halfway down.’
‘Did anyone pass you on the stairs?’
‘No, nobody passed me.’
‘Are you certain of that?’
‘Quite positive,’ said Nigel.
‘Any more questions?’ asked Alleyn.
Nobody spoke.
Inspector Alleyn turned to Tokareff. ‘Doctor Tokareff,’ he said, ‘I shall take you next, if you please.’
‘Thank you,’ said the Russian pugnaciously.
‘You went upstairs with the first detachment—Miss North, Miss Grant, Mrs Wilde, and Sir Hubert Handesley?’
Tokareff was glaring combatively through his spectacles at the detective.
‘Certainly I did,’ he said.
‘Did you go straight to your room?’
‘Yes, immediately. This I can prove, for I am in good mood while I am in my room last night, so I sing the Death of Boris fortissimo. I am in distant wing of house, but still my voice is robust. Many should have heard.’
‘I heard,’ said Handesley, and he actually smiled.
‘Were you singing the Death of Boris all the time—until the gong sounded and the lights went out?’
‘Yes, certainly.’
‘A gala performance! You visited a bathroom?’
‘Niet! No! I do not bath at this hour. It is not advisable. Better at night before bed, to open the pores. Then a gentle sweat—’
‘Yes, quite. You dressed then?’
‘I dress. While I dress I sing. When I come to great cry of agony, I interpret in the manner of Fedor Chaliapin—’ He suddenly gave tongue to a galvanizing bellow. Mrs Wilde suppressed a little shriek. ‘At this moment,’ ended Doctor Tokareff, ‘gong goes and lights go out. It is the game. I cease to sing and count sixty twice in Russian. Then I come out.’
‘Thank you very much. I understand that you were the first to realize what happened to Mr Rankin?’
‘Yes, I was first. I have seen
