The Blind Barber

informed him in general terms that Moors were 'black men,' then the crafty Sultan of the Moors would have made his entrance with 'Old Man River.' Next—'

'Hold on!' said Dr. Fell, whose eyes were growing bright with tears again, and who had clapped a hand over his mouth as he trembled. 'I don't quite understand this. It should have been one of your high lights, Why are you so reluctant to talk about it? Out with it now! Was there, or wasn't there a performance?'

'Well — yes and again no,' replied Morgan, shifting uneasily. 'It started, anyway. Oh, I'll admit it saved our lives in a way, because the old dabble Parcae were working for us now; but I'd rather not have had it saved in that way… Have you noticed that I've not seemed too cheerful today! Have you also noticed that I'm not accompanied by my wife? She was supposed to meet me at Southampton, but at the last minute I sent her a radiogram not to come, because I was afraid some of the passengers might—'

Dr. Fell sat up.

'If I've got to tell it,' said Morgan wryly, 'I suppose I must. Fortunately, we got no farther than the first scene, wherein Charlemagne speaks the prologue. I was Charlemagne. Charlemagne wore long white whiskers; his venerable head was adorned with a gold crown studded with diamonds and rubies; a mantle of scarlet and ermine swathed his mighty shoulders; a jewelled broadsword was buckled about his waist, and under his chain mail his stomach was stuffed with four sofa-pillows to give him embonpoint. I was Charlemagne.

'Charlemagne spoke the prologue behind an illuminated gauze screen, like a tall picture-frame, at the rear of the stage. Yes. And how. Mr. Leslie Perrigord had just concluded an impassioned speech lasting fifty-five minutes to the tick. Mr. Perrigord said that this performance was the goods. He said he hoped his hearers, with minds made torpid by the miasmatic sluggishness of Hollywood, would receive a refreshing shock as they watched enthralled this drama in which every gesture recorded an aspiration of the human soul. He said to watch closely, even though they would not fully appreciate its lights and shadings, its subtle groupings and baffling harmonies of line, its bold chords on the metaphysical yearning of man, not surpassed in the mightiest pages of Ibsen. He also said a number of complimentary things about the prowess of Charlemagne. I was Charlemagne.

'When at length he ran out of breath, he stopped. There were three hollow knocks. Captain Valvick, despite all that could be done to stop him, played an overture consisting of 'La Marseillaise.' The curtain flew up a bit prematurely, I fear. Among eighty-odd others, Mr. Perrigord saw the gauze screen glowing luminous against darkness, and full of rich colour. He saw the venerable Charlemagne. He also saw his wife. The position was — er — full of subtle groupings and baffling harmonies of fine. Yes. That was the moment at which the chain mail split and the sofa-pillows flew out as though they had been fired from a gun. I was Charlemagne… Now, maybe you understand why I do not care to incorporate it into the body of the story. I have no doubt that the audience received a refreshing shock as they watched enthralled this drama in which every gesture recorded an aspiration of the human soul.'

Morgan took a deep drink of beer.

Dr. Fell turned his face towards the window. Morgan observed that his shouders were quivering as though with shock and outrage.

'In any event, it saved us, and it saved Uncle Jules for ever. The roar of applause which went up pleased everybody except possibly Mr. Perrigord. Such an instantaneous success was never achieved in any theatre by a performance which lasted only long enough for somebody to drop the curtain. Uncle Jules's marionette theatre in Soho will be crowded to the end of his days whether he's drunk or sober. And rest solemnly assured that, whatever he happens to feel about it, Mr. Leslie Perrigord will never write in the newspapers a word to condemn him.'

The declining sun drew lower across the carpet, resting on the brown-wrapped parcel in the middle of the table. After a time, Dr. Fell turned back.)

'So—' he observed, his face gradually becoming less red as quiet settled down—'so it all ends happily, eh? Except perhaps for Mr. Perrigord and — the Blind Barber.'

He opened a penknife and weighed it in his hand.

'Yes,' said Morgan. 'Yes, except in one sense. After all, the fact remains that — whatever little game you're playing — we still don't know a blasted thing that's important. We don't know what happened on that ship, although, in spite of all the foolery, we know there was a murder. And a murder isn't especially funny. Nor is, actually, the fact that Curt hasn't recovered his film, and, however ridiculous that looks, to him and to others it's as desperately serious a matter as any.'

'Oh?' grunted Dr. Fell. 'Well, well!' he said, deprecatingly, and winked one eye, 'if that's all you want… '

Suddenly he reached across the table and cut the strings of the parcel with his knife.

'I thought—' he added, beaming, as his hand dived among the wrappings and lifted up a tangled coil of film like a genial Laocoon, 'I thought it might be better to have it sent up here before the police rake over the Blind Barber's effects and cause scandal by finding this. I'll hand it over to young Warren when he arrives, so that he can destroy it immediately; although, in return for the favour, do you think he would consent to running it privately, just once, for my benefit? Heh-heh-heh! Hang it all, I think I can insist on that much reward, hey? Of course, it's holding back evidence, in a way. But there'll be enough to hang the Barber without it. It was my price for pointing out the culprit to Captain Whistler and handing him the credit of capturing a dangerous criminal. I felt the old sea-horse would comply… '

Tossing the rustling coil across on Morgan's arm, Dr. Fell sat back and blinked. Morgan was on his feet, staring.

'You mean, then, the man is under arrest already?'

'Oh, yes. Caught neatly by the brilliant Captain Whistler — who will get a medal for this, and completing everybody's happiness — an hour before the ship docked. Inspector Jennings, at my suggestion, went down from the Yard in a fast car and was ready to take the Barber in charge when he landed… '

'Ready to take who in charge?' he demanded.

'Why, the impostor who calls himself Lord Sturton, of course!' said Dr. Fell.

21 — The Murderer

'I perceive on your face,' continued the doctor affably, as he lit his pipe, 'a certain frog-like expression which would seem to indicate astonishment. H'm! puff, puff, haaaa! You should not be in the least astonished. Under the data given, as I have tabulated in my sixteen clues, there was only one person who could conceivably have been guilty. If I were wrong on my first eight — which, as I pointed out to you, were mere suggestions — then no harm could be done by testing my theory. The second eight confirmed it, and so I had no fear of the result. But, not to leap in too sylph-like a fashion at conclusions, I did this. Here is a copy of the telegram I dispatched to Captain Whistler.'

He drew a scribbled envelope from his pocket, on which Morgan read:

Man calling himself Viscount Sturton is impostor. Hold him under port authority and ask to speak to Hilda Keller, secretary travelling with him. He will not be able to produce her; she is dead. Make thorough search of Man's cabin and person. You will find evidence to support you. Among possessions you will probably find film____

(Here followed a description.)

If you will send this to me special messenger travelling train arriving Waterloo 3:50, kindly say capture was your own idea. Release Fortinbras from brig. All regards.

Gideon Fell.

'What's the use of special authority,' inquired Dr. Fell, 'if you don't use it. Besides, if I had been wrong, and the girl was not really missing, there wouldn't have been an enormous row. But she was. You see, this bogus Sturton was able to conceal her presence or absence admirably so long as you never had any suspicions of him. Lad, at several places he was in devilish tight positions; but his very position, and the fact that he was the one who seemed to suffer most from the theft, kept him entirely immune from being suspected… Don't choke, now; have some more beer. Shall I explain?'