Enter a Murderer by Ngaio Marsh Page A

Gardener.
    “
Felix Gardener
. Fired the revolver. His own weapon. Admits he came on to stage during the black-out. Says someone trod on his foot Supplied cartridges that Props converted into dummies. Motive. — Possibly Surbonadier’s threats to Miss Vaughan.
    “
J. B. Crammer. }
    “
Dulcie Deamer. }
See Fox’s report.”
    “
Howard Melville. }
     
    Alleyn looked up.
    “Didn’t you hear? Melville and Crammer were together in Crammer’s room during the black-out. Before that Melville had been on the stage. Miss Deamer was next door and heard their voices. I’ll write it in for you.”
    He went on with the summary.
     
    “See Fox’s report. Motive. — None, except professional jealousy in Barclay Crammer’s case.
    “
Trixie Beadle
. Was helping Miss Vaughan, but told Fox she was with her father in wardrobe-room during black-out. May have gone there from dressing-room. Motive. — Had possibly been seduced by deceased, and was afraid of him telling Props. Engaged to Props.
    “
Beadle
. Father of above. Told Fox he was in wardrobe-room with his daughter. Met daughter in passage first. Motive. — Surbonadier meddling with the girl.
    “
Old Blair
. Stage door-keeper. Most unlikely.
    “
Jacob Saint
. Owns the show. Was behind earlier in the evening. Deceased’s uncle. Had a row with him. Hypothetical owner of the gloves found in bag. Gardener seemed to remember noticing a scent on the person who trod on his foot. Saint uses a very noticeable scent. Motive. — Unknown, except for the row about casting.
    “
Stage Staff
. All in the property-room.
    “
Notes
. Points of interest. Janet Emerald exclaimed: ‘It wasn’t you. They can’t say it was you,’ when Saint appeared. She lied about herself. Props behaved very strangely and suspiciously. Was Miss Vaughan telling the truth? Had Saint come back on to the stage? At first-night party Barclay Crammer seemed to dislike Surbonadier intensely. I noticed coolness between Saint and Surbonadier at studio party.”
     
    Here Nigel’s document ended abruptly. Alleyn laid it down on his desk.
    “It’s all quite correct,” he approved. “It’s even rather suggestive. If you were a policeman, what would you do next?”
    “I haven’t any idea.”
    “Really? Well, I’ll tell you what we have done. We’ve been delving in the murky past of Mr. Jacob Saint.”
    “Jimini!”
    “Yes. Rather a chequered career. You can help me.”
    “I say — can I really?”
    “How long have you been a Pressman?”
    “Ever since I came down from Cambridge.”
    “Almost the G.O.M. of Fleet Street. It’s a matter of a year, isn’t it?”
    “And three months.”
    “Then you don’t remember the illicit drug scandal of some six years ago, and an article in the
Morning Express
that resulted in a libel action in which Jacob Saint featured as plaintiff, and triumphed to the tune of five thousand pounds?”
    Nigel whistled shrilly and then became thoughtful. “I do remember vaguely,” he said.
    “The case was spectacular. The article hinted pretty broadly that Saint’s fortune had been amassed through the rather wholesale supply of proscribed drugs. Ladies and gentlemen with unattractive portmanteaux under their yellow eyeballs were, said the writer, constantly being obliged with opium and cocaine by some agency controlled by a ‘well-known theatre magnate whose recent successes in a playhouse not a thousand yards from Piccadilly… ’ and so on. As I have said, Saint took it to court, won hands down, and emerged a little tarnished but triumphant. One very curious fact came out. The identity of the author was unknown. A leading reporter on the
Morning Express
was away on holiday. The article arrived at the office purporting to have come from him. A typewritten note was signed with a clever forgery of his name. He denied any knowledge of the business and made his case good. For once in its cocksure career, the
Morning Express
had been had. The address on the notepaper