Twenty-six

NOT FROM CAPTAIN HASTINGS’ PERSONAL NARRATIVEInspector Crome was listening to the excited utterances of Mr. Leadbetter.

“I assure you, inspector, my heart misses a beat when I think of it. He must actually have beensitting beside me all through the programme!”

Inspector Crome, completely indifferent to the behaviour of Mr. Leadbetter’s heart, said:

“Just let me have it quite clear? This man went out towards the close of the big picture—”

“Not a Sparrow—Katherine Royal,” murmured Mr. Leadbetter automatically.

“He passed you and in doing so stumbled—”

“He pretended to stumble, I see it now. Then he leaned over the seat in front to pick up his hat.

He must have stabbed the poor fellow then.”

“You didn’t hear anything? A cry? Or a groan?”

Mr. Leadbetter had heard nothing but the loud, hoarse accents of Katherine Royal, but in thevividness of his imagination he invented a groan.

Inspector Crome took the groan at its face value and bade him proceed.

“And then he went out—”

“Can you describe him?”

“He was a very big man. Six foot at least. A giant.”

“Fair or dark?”

“I—well—I’m not exactly sure. I think he was bald. A sinister-looking fellow.”

“He didn’t limp, did he?” asked Inspector Crome.

“Yes—yes, now you come to speak of it I think he did limp. Very dark, he might have beensome kind of half-caste.”

“Was he in his seat the last time the lights came up?”

“No. He came in after the big picture began.”

Inspector Crome nodded, handed Mr. Leadbetter a statement to sign and got rid of him.

“That’s about as bad a witness as you’ll find,” he remarked pessimistically. “He’d say anythingwith a little leading. It’s perfectly clear that he hasn’t the faintest idea what our man looks like.

Let’s have the commissionaire back.”

The commissionaire, very stiff and military, came in and stood to attention, his eyes fixed onColonel Anderson.

“Now, then, Jameson, let’s hear your story.”

Jameson saluted.

“Yessir. Close of the performance, sir. I was told there was a gentleman taken ill, sir.

Gentleman was in the two and fourpennies, slumped down in his seat like. Other gentlemenstanding around. Gentleman looked bad to me, sir. One of the gentlemen standing by put his handto the ill gentleman’s coat and drew my attention. Blood, sir. It was clear the gentleman was dead—stabbed, sir. My attention was drawn to an A B C railway guide, sir, under the seat. Wishing toact correctly, I did not touch same, but reported to the police immediately that a tragedy hadoccurred.”

“Very good. Jameson, you acted very properly.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Did you notice a man leaving the two and four-pennies about five minutes earlier?”

“There were several, sir.”

“Could you describe them?”

“Afraid not, sir. One was Mr. Geoffrey Parnell. And there was a young fellow, Sam Baker, withhis young lady. I didn’t notice anybody else particular.”

“A pity. That’ll do, Jameson.”

“Yessir.”

The commissionaire saluted and departed.

“The medical details we’ve got,” said Colonel Anderson. “We’d better have the fellow thatfound him next.”

A police constable came in and saluted.

“Mr. Hercule Poirot’s here, sir, and another gentleman.”

Inspector Crome frowned.

“Oh, well,” he said. “Better have ’em in, I suppose.”