The Blind Barber

case those revellers should decide—'

'But I did!' cried Mrs. Perrigord. 'Oh, the doah was bolted, I assuah you! From the very first moment I heard a woman's voice imploring someone to — to strike someone ageyne, it was bolted. I did not close an eye oil night. I can most certainly tell you that no one came into the cabin.'

(Well, that tore it. Morgan glanced at his companions. Peggy looked upset. Warren angry and mystified. The puzzle was growing worse jumbled and also it was Mr. Perrigord who now seemed to be giving the nasty looks. Morgan felt that they had better go off and cool their before going up for the interview with Captain Whistler. He prepared some discreet words…)

tell me,' said Mrs. Perrigord, apparently struck an idea. 'Someone said—are you the Mr. Morgan writes the detective stories?' 'Why — er — yes. Yes, I believe so. Thank you very much, Mrs. Perrigord, and you too, sir. It's been delightful to have made your acquaintance, and I only hope we shall have the opportunity—'

'I adore detective stories,' said Mrs. Perrigord. Her husband remained motionless. But on his glassy-eyed countenance was a curious expression. He looked as a familiar of the Spanish Inquisition might have looked if, on the morning of an auto-da-fe, Fra Torquemada had announced an intention of dismissing the poor blighters with a warning.

'Do you indeed, my dear?' inquired Leslie Perrigord, frostily. 'Most extraordinary. Well, we must not detain them, Cynthia. Miss Glenn, I hope I shall have the pleasure of conferring with you to-day — and also your excellent uncle, to whom I look forward to meeting — and arrange matters for the performance to-night. A bientot!'

'But we shall see you at the concert, of course,' observed Mrs. Perrigord. On her face was a narrow-eyed smile which somehow reminded Morgan of Mr. Stanley Laurel. 'Les-leh and I have bean conferring with the pursah to arrange it. I shall so hope to see you, deah Miss Glenn. An excellent programme has bean arranged. Madame Giulia Leda Camopsozzi will sing morceaux from the more modern masters, accompanied by her husband, Signor Benito Furioso Camopsozzi. I — ah — believe,' she added, frowning as though this did not appeal to her, 'that the pursah, a certain Mr. Macgregor, has persuaded Dr. Oliver Kyle to recite selections from the works of Robert Burns. This will of course precede M. Fortinbras's performance. A bientot'

'Cheero-ho,' said Peggy, rising from the table, 'and thanks most awfully for all the information. You must come and see me, Mr. Perrigord, and tell me all about those fascinating things — but, I say — er — if you're going to see my uncle—'

'Yes?' inquired Mr. Perrigord. He lifted his eyebrows at her worried expression.

'Don't think me foolish, but I really know him awfully well. And please promise me, if he's up and about — I mean, I know how awful some of you terribly intelligent people are,' she really seemed to be in earnest this time, and even Mrs. Perrigord condescended to look at her as she hesitated; 'but promise me you won't give him anything to drink. I know it sounds silly, but he really hasn't got a strong head; and — and you'd never believe it, but he has a most awful weakness for gin. I have to watch him, you see, because one night when we were to give a performance in Philadelphia—'

'I never touch spirits, Miss Glenn,' said Perrigord, swiftly and rather curtly. ' 'Why should I put a thief in my mouth to steal away my brains?' as T. S. Eliot somewhere puts it. It is abominable. I am also a vegetarian. M. Fortinbras will be quite safe in my care. Good day.'

In silence the three conspirators hurried away from the table. Morgan, locked up with his own bewildering thoughts, did not speak. Peggy looked scared. It was Warren who broke the silence.

'You see?' he demanded, savagely. 'Those two dumb chucks wouldn't steal anything. Now take my advice before it's too late. It's that fake doctor, I'm telling you. My Lord! the thing didn't just disappear! It's in his cabin… '

'Peggy,' said Morgan, 'there's no other explanation. You must have mistaken the cabin.'

They had reached the foot of the staircase, and she waited until a passing steward was out of earshot. 'I didn't, Hank,' she told him, quietly and earnestly. 'I'm absolutely positive I didn't. I was out on deck again this morning, putting myself just where I stood last night… '

'Well?'

'I wasn't mistaken. It was one of those two, because there are only two portholes anywhere near. It was one of those two; and I think, I say I think, it was Dr. Kyle's.'

'As far as I'm concerned, I don't see what more evidence you want,' remarked Warren, rather querulously. 'I'll do what the Brains says, and no questions asked, but I've got my own theories. Come on. We've got to go up and see Captain Whistler.'

A voice just above them said: 'Excuse me, Mr. Warren. I don't want to bust up anything; but if you've ten minutes to spare, I think I can make it worth your while.'

Leaning over the gilt banister, tapping it with his finger, Mr. Charles Woodcock was regarding them in a very curious fashion.

11 — One Who Saw the Blind Barber

Mr. Woodcock's countenance wore such an expression of tense and alert seriousness that Morgan felt a new uneasiness. He remembered Valvick's remarks to the effect that Woodcock had hinted of things, nebulous but dangerous things, the man claimed to know. Never thoroughly at ease before live-wire business men, because his mind could not move as fast as theirs along their own lines, Morgan thought of several disturbing possibilities, including blackmail. And so it was that they encountered a feature of the case which (a week before) Morgan would have considered an absurdity or a frank impossibility, yet which to others was serious: one of the deadly serious things which underlay a tissue of misdirection and nonsense.

Woodcock was a wiry, restless, shock-headed man with a bony face and good-humoured eyes which were nevertheless rather fixed. Round his sharp jaw were wrinkles as though from much talking; the talking, in fact — as he strolled about the ship hitherto — had been rapid, lurid, jovial and winking. He seemed desirous of conveying the impression that he was a bouncing, engagingly mendacious good fellow with little on his mind. Now he leaned over the banister, his sharp eyes moving swiftly right and left.

'Now I spoke to the old skipper,' he went on in a rapid and confidential undertone, 'because I didn't have any idea of shoving myself in, you understand, where I mightn't be wanted. All right!' said Mr. Woodcock lifting his palm in a gesture as though he expected an objection. He did this each time he said, 'All right!' It was a means of noting that he had made a point; and could go on from there with a certainty that, so far, everything was understood. 'All right! But I know how it is with these things, and I want to make it man to man, and fair and square, so that I can convince you you'll be doing a thing you'll never regret if you come in on my proposition. All right! Now, all I want, Mr. Warren, is ten minutes of your valuable time — alone. Just ten minutes. You can take out your watch and put it on the table, and if I haven't interested you in just ten minutes—'Here he made a significant gesture of his wrist and raised his eyebrows—'then there's absolutely no more to be said.'

'Not at all, not at all,' said Warren rather vaguely. He was flustered at this new intrusion, and clearly had the idea Woodcock was trying to sell him something. 'Glad to give you all the time you want. Well — we'll have a drink and talk it over. But not just now. My friends and I have an important date—'

Woodcock leaned closer.

'Exactly, old man. Exactly. I know. With the captain. It's all right now; it's all right,' he whispered, raising his hand. 'I understand, old man.'

The conspirators stared at each other, and Woodcock's eyes swept from one to the other of them. 'What,' said Warren, 'what's on your mind?'

'Ten minutes,' said the other, 'alone?'

'Well — yes. But my friends have got to be there. You can tell all of us, can't you?'

Woodcock seemed to scent a bluff somewhere. His eyebrows went up, but he spoke in a tone of pleasant and fatherly chiding, anxiously.

'Look, old man. Are you sure you've got it straight? Are you sure you'd like to have the young lady