“Of course,” said Carolyn with enthusiasm. “How brilliant of you, Mr. Alleyn. It was a drunken footballer. I mean, it all fits in so splendidly, doesn’t it? He would know how to kick. Think of the All Blacks.”

Mr. Meyer listened solemnly to this. Hambledon suddenly began to laugh. Alleyn hurriedly lit a cigarette.

“It’s all very well for you to laugh,” said Mr. Meyer. He felt his stern carefully, staring at Alleyn. “I don’t know about the police,” he said. “That’d mean the Press and we’ve never gone in for that sort of publicity. What do you think, Hailey? ‘Attempted Murder of Well-known Theatrical Manager.’ It’s not too good. It isn’t as if it had been Carolyn.”

“I should think not indeed,” agreed Hambledon with difficulty.

“So should I think not indeed,” said Carolyn.

“Mr. Meyer,” said Alleyn, “have you any enemies in your own company?”

“Good God, no. We’re a happy little family. I treat my people well and they respect me. There’s never been a word.”

“You say that several people went past you while you were on the platform,” said Alleyn. “Did you notice any of them in particular?”

“No. I stood with my back to the gangway.”

“Do you remember,” asked Alleyn after a pause, “if there was anyone standing on the opposite platform, the one at this end of our carriage that was linked to yours by the iron bridge?”

“I don’t think so. Not when I went out. Someone might have come out later. You know how it is — all dark and noisy and windy. I had my hat pulled down and my scarf up to my eyes. I simply stood with my back half turned to that platform looking out at the side.”

“How long was it before we got to the last station— Ohakune?”

“I should think about half an hour.”

“What time was it,” Alleyn asked Hambledon, “when I woke up and we began to talk? I looked at my watch, do you remember?”