narrative

inspector 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 been sitting 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 pretendedto 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 the vividness 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 been some 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 anything with 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 on colonel anderson.

‘now, then, jameson, let’s hear your story.’

jameson saluted.

‘yes sir. 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 gentlemen standing around. gentleman looked bad to me, sir. one of the gentlemen standing by put his hand to 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 to act correctly, i did not touch same, but reported to the police immediately that a tragedy had occurred.’

‘very good. jameson, you acted very properly.’

‘thank you, sir.’

‘did you notice a man leaving the two and fourpennies 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, with his young lady. i didn’t notice anybody else particular.’

‘a pity. that’ll do, jameson.’

‘yes sir.’

the commissionaire saluted and departed.

‘the medical details we’ve got,’ said colonel anderson. ‘we’d better have the fellow that found 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.’