The Blind Barber

in exile. A sailor with a whistle, reading Hollywood Romances, had been stolidly posted on a chair outside, so that the possibility of a jail-break was nil.

There was, however, one consolation. The rather sardonic ship's doctor — who believed not at all in Warren's Insanity, but found it prudent from long experience not to cross Captain Whistler before his temper subsided — made no objection to supplying the maniac with cigarettes and reading-matter. If he saw the bottle of whisky which Peggy smuggled through in a roll of magazines, he made no sign.

Morgan's contributions to the captive were a box of Gold Flake and a copy of one of his earlier novels called, Played, Partner! Now, if you are a very prolific writer of detective-stories, you will be aware that the details of earlier ones tend to fade from your mind even more quickly than they do from the reader's. Morgan remembered in a general way what the book was about. Played, Partner! was the tale of Lord Gerald Derreval, known to West End clubland as a wealthy idler, dilettante, and sportsman; but known to Scotland Yard under the enigmatic and terrible pseudonym of The Will-o'-the-Wisp. As a gentleman burglar, Lord Gerald was hot stuff. His thrilling escapes from captivity under heavy guard made Mr. Harry Houdini look like a bungler who had got out of clink only with a writ of habeas corpus. Of course, there was never anything really crooked about Lord Gerald. All he did was pinch the shirt off any old reprobate who had been low-minded enough to get rich, thereby qualifying Lord Gerald for a high place in the Socialist literature which is so popular nowadays. Besides, he was redeemed by his love for the beautiful Sardinia Trelawney. In the end he trapped the real villain who had tried to saddle a murder on him; and made it up with Inspector Daniels, the man who had sworn to get him and was in general so: weak-minded and got the bird so often that even in the? midst of pitying him you wondered how he contrived to hold his job.

These were the details that had faded from Morgan's! mind, but such was the dynamite placed in the hands of J Mr. Curtis Warren along with an imperial-quart of Old J Rob Roy. It would, perhaps, have been wiser to give him a Bradshaw or a volume of sermons; but the moving finger writes, and, having writ, moves on; and, besides, philosophical remarks on this question have already been made. After Peggy had bidden him a tearful good-bye, and Morgan and Valvick had shaken hands with him, they { went up in a thunder-fraught mood to see the captain. 1

'Honest, now,' said Valvick rather broodingly, as they crossed the boat-deck in the sunlight that Warren was forbidden to see, 'do you t'ank we are right, or iss dere a mistake? Dat wass no yoke, what dey tell us. If dey say dere is nobody missing, den ay don't see how dere is somebody missing. Maybe we talk about a murder and dere is no murder.'

'I tell you we're right!' snapped Morgan. 'We're right, and it's got to be proved somehow. First thing, I'll tackle Whistler in as cool a frame of mind as I can. I'll challenge him to get that blood on the razor and in the berth tested. The ship's doctor can do it, or maybe Dr. Kyle… '

'Kyle?' said Peggy, staring at him. 'But Dr. Kyle—'

'Will you get your mind off that tedious joke?' said Morgan, wearily. 'Let's dispose of it once and for all. Don't you realise that Kyle is the one person on the whole ship who can't possibly be guilty?'

'Why?'

'Because he's the one man who's got an alibi, old girl.; Look here, Skipper. You're pretty sure your friend with; the toothache, the Bermondsey Terror, is honest; aren't you? — all right. And what did he say? He said that he didn't lose sight of Kyle's door all night; that he heard the row on deck from title beginning…. Wait a bit. You, didn't know about that, did you, Peggy?' He rapidly sketched out the Bermondsey Terror's information, and also gave Valvick the evidence of the Perrigords. 'So what? The Blind Barber stole the rest of that film and killed the

girl while the row was going on out on deck. Nobody went n or out of Kyle's door all night. So how did Kyle get out and back? It won't wash, I tell you.'irl while the row was going on out on deck. Nobody went n or out of Kyle's door all night. So how did Kyle get out and back? It won't wash, I tell you.'

'It's you that's the blind one, Hank,' she informed him, scornfully. 'He needn't have been in his cabin at all, need he? Alibis! Bah! What's the good of an alibi. They always turn out to be fakes, anyway.'

Morgan gestured.

'All right. It's easily settled. We're going into action at once, and by the Lord we're going to prove our case. Here's a commission for you, Skipper. Go down and see your friend the Bermondsey Terror and question him. Also sec the cabin steward and make any inquiries you think of… '

'Now?' asked Valvick, scratching his head.

'Now. We'll prove it one way or another. To continue,' lie said to Peggy, as the other muttered a few reflections and lumbered off, 'I'll tackle Whistler about that blood. I'll swear it's human blood; and, if it is, we can safely point out to him that nobody could have lost so much and still show no sign of being hurt this morning. Nobody, old girl! Then we'll make the whole round of the ship ourselves, If necessary. And we'll show 'em.'

He looked rather malevolently about the boat-deck, which was crowded and noisy. Warren's triumphal progress to the brig had taken place belowdecks and by a devious way, but the news was already flying, so that there was a note of shrillness in the clatter of talk. Somnolent figures in deck chairs, set out to dry themselves under the sun, were sitting up from their rugs; a game of shuffleboard had been suspended and two deck-tennis players came up to the net lor a conference. The ship's reigning belle — there is always one — had stopped her professional smiling, her beret pushed over one ear and a cigarette half-way to her mouth, and was bending to listen in a whispering group of admirers. She stood on a raised platform by a lifeboat, her gaudy green scarf blowing against the sky. Far above their heads, on one of the three vast black funnels that showed; a faint stain of smoke, the liner's whistle emitted a sudden hoarse Whooo! as though it were giving an alarm. A suggestion of lunch was now in the air. There was a good deal of laughter. Morgan scowled.)

They found Whistler getting his cabin set to rights and being particularly rough on the steward.

'I won't discuss it,' he said, 'any more. Maybe I was hasty. I won't say I wasn't. But I acted within my rights, and I'll let that young drunkard or lunatic stop there until; I damned well get ready to let him out. We'll say nothing of his story. But take a look around my cabin, just look at; it, and then tell me whether I didn't do the right thing.' He thrust out his jaw, the good eye narrowed in his battered face, and the gold stripes on his sleeves gleamed as he jammed his fists on his hips. But there was something: curiously conciliating about him. 'Come now!' he said suddenly. 'We're alone. There's no need for you to defend your friend. What's the truth of the matter?'

They could hear the breath whistling from his nose.

'Does this mean, Captain,' said Peggy, after a pause in which she seemed taken aback, 'that you really don't think Curt is mad, after all? Oooh, you villain! After you ordered those nasty men to manhandle and,' she gasped, 'and mistreat—'

'I want the truth, madam. The truth, that's all. In my s position—' i

'I say, Captain,' said Morgan, after another pause in which Whistler shut his teeth hard, 'does this mean something new has happened?'

'Why should it?'.

'Oh, I only wondered… He was looking quickly, round the cabin, searching a clue, and then he saw it. j Rolled into a wad at one side of the wardrobe lay what] looked very much like a sheet tied round stained blankets.] 'So,' said Morgan, 'do you mean to tell us a steward saw something queer about the cabin next to Curt's? And went I in and found the berth full of bloodstained sheets? And] then reported to you? Excellent. Here's the razor that was j used in the killing.' He took it out of his pocket and laid It on the table, while Whistler stared at him fixedly. 'Now everything is fine. All you've done is accuse the wrong man of being a liar and a lunatic, and locked him up under guard. If old Sturton can only get you convicted of criminal negligence to the extent of fifty thousand pounds, the officials of this steamship line will be in an even better humour.'

As a matter of fact, he was (despite himself) feeling lorry for the old mackerel. A persistent voice told him that the whole mess was their own fault. All that made him wild was that circumstances seemed conspiring to prevent belief in something he still fiercely felt to be true.

'Murder!' said the captain, in a sort of gulp. 'Murder! You have the nerve to stand there and talk to me of murder when there's nobody not accounted for on the whole ship? Where's the murdered person?… And don't try to talk to me about what my superiors will think. I put that young lunatic in confinement for an offence against discipline. That's all. An offence against discipline, wild that's my right. My word is law, and any maritime court—'

'It would make a good story, though,' the other pointed out, 'printed in the newspapers. Impassioned