Auguste glared at him. “Then I demand to be a suspect, Sergeant Stitch. I confess I was on the scene suspiciously soon after the murder of Mr. Oscar Fish. I disliked him for blackmailing Hetty Clogg. I knew where the daggers were in Aladdin’s Cave. I might have killed Baron Glumboots. Let me through,” he bellowed.
Sergeant Stitch took his revenge. Auguste was duly escorted inside with a loud announcement that Mr. Didier had confessed to the crime of murder. Auguste thought he saw the corners of the inspector’s mouth twitch, but Rose replied gravely, “Thank you, Stitch. I’ll deal with him.”
“The Lovelet necklace, Inspector,” Auguste began when Stitch had released his grip and the inspector had drawn Auguste to one side. “We speculated that Oscar Fish knew who was involved in the jewel thefts,” he continued. “But suppose it was he who organised them? He moved in high circles, knew where and what should be stolen. He could have arranged for someone else to carry out the job and bring the jewels to him for disposal elsewhere. This evening he could have been expecting the Lovelet necklace, but his accomplice betrayed him.”
Rose eyed him keenly. “Props?”
Auguste nodded.
It was a dejected group after the plates of sandwiches had been cleared. Auguste thought it a depressing sight. Hetty and Jane were still in costume and the white dress and the blue satin coat looked shabby and cheap without the stage lights on them. The wrinkled face of Arthur Brown, who was still clad in his shawl, skirt, and boots, staring out under his chestnut wig failed to look comic. Jacob was clearly deciding never to search for wigs again, Props was glaring with fury, and Robert Archibald sat grimly with them, arms folded defensively against this unexpected blow to his theatre.
“You, Miss Clogg, came down to the property room at ten to six and took several wigs back to the dressing rooms,” Inspector Rose began. “No one was there to receive them. Miss Wisley was here in the greenroom waiting in vain for Oscar Fish. Mr. Brown only arrived at the theatre at six-fifteen, in time to change for the performance, by which time Miss Clogg says she was in the dressing room. But where were you, Mr. Waters?”
He shifted nervously. “In the pub, as I told you.”
“Mr. Hunt didn’t see you.”
“Never saw him either, but I was there,” he glared.
“But one of you was with Oscar Fish in Aladdin’s Cave. Was it you, Mr. Waters, discussing your past life in Wandsworth Prison? Or you, Miss Clogg, pleading with him as he threatened you? Or you, Miss Wisley, angry at his rejection of you? Or you, Mr. Brown, eager to avenge old wounds?”
Harry Waters leapt up from his chair, turning it over in the process of making for the door. Princess Petal and Jane Wisley screamed and Arthur Brown let out a string of expletives as Sergeant Stitch came rushing in blowing his whistle. A hefty shove from Harry Waters cleared his way to the door, but Stitch was made of stern stuff and a leg quickly extended sent Waters stumbling into the sergeant’s less than loving arms.
Auguste leapt up, appalled at what was happening. The apple tarte was indeed upside down but the pastry was wrong. Props was a convenient abbreviation, but confusing. It meant both the property master and the property room. Come back, genie, he silently pleaded as Harry Waters tore himself from Sergeant Stitch’s grasp and was away before two uniformed police, summoned by the whistle, could stop him. By the time Auguste reached the door, Props was heading for the stage with everyone in the room rushing after him.
Come back, genie, Auguste commanded again, thinking feverishly. Glumboots had arrived at the theatre at just before six o’clock, but Props wasn’t there, the genie whispered to him encouragingly. The stage-door keeper had told Glumboots the wig was upstairs where he then went. Did he find it there? There was no way to be sure, but something was clearly wrong because he must have come down to Aladdin’s Cave almost immediately without changing, perhaps in the hope of finding Props down there — and perhaps the Lovelet necklace. But there he met his death. The genie seemed to be grinning — and no wonder, because now Auguste understood.
“Inspector,” he yelled dashing after the group now disappearing onto the darkened stage.
Rose stopped as Auguste reached the stage. “What?”
“We have it wrong,” Auguste panted. “Think of properties, not Props.”
At that moment, there was a scream from Hetty Clogg followed by gasps as a dark figure could be seen climbing up the ladder into the flies amid a mass of ropes and pulleys.
“Come on down!” roared the inspector.
A pause and Jacob Hunt climbed slowly down towards him.
“Very nice piece of sole,” Inspector Rose said approvingly to Auguste, after a late supper in the restaurant. “That forcemeat wrapped the fish up nicely. Like this case, thanks to you. What brought you to our friend Hunt?”
“It was simple,” Auguste replied modestly. “The wig made a splendid place to hide a jewel, because no one would examine it closely, except the person for whom it was intended. They are very intricately made with springs, gauze, and hair, and burying the jewels in Glumboots’s wig was an excellent way to transport them after Hunt had stolen them. Hunt’s firm works for a lot of theatres under contract and you will probably find that Oscar Fish plays in several of them. But tonight the plan went wrong somehow.”
“I can tell you how,” Inspector Rose replied. “Hunt’s told us the lot now. When Fish found his wig in the dressing room, the necklace wasn’t there. That’s why he rushed to see if Hunt was still in the theatre. He was. He had come back from the pub earlier than he had claimed, and Fish accused him of trying to cheat him. When Hunt protested and said the necklace had been there, Fish threatened to tell the Yard that he was the thief. Hunt lost control — who would believe him over the word of the great Oscar Fish?” Rose paused. “Time for me to call on the genie again, Mr. Didier. Ready?”
“Perhaps,” Auguste said cautiously.
“Where did the Lovelet necklace go?”
Auguste stared at him aghast. He had forgotten that small detail. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. Genies always know.”
Auguste cast a desperate eye around the restaurant for inspiration. His eye fell on Princess Petal, still clad in her floating white costume dress as she dined with the Earl of Otford. Auguste gazed at this peaceful spectacle and studied her more closely.
Could it be...? Could it possibly be...?
He cleared his throat. “Shall we ask Princess Petal, Inspector?” he suggested diffidently.
Inspector Rose followed his discreetly pointing finger and they went over to her table together.
Hetty turned to them in delight. “The earl and I are betrothed,” she told them happily.
Auguste left it to the inspector to speak. “And this lovely sparkling necklace round your neck is an engagement present?” he asked politely.
Hetty giggled. “Oh no. This is just stage jewellery. I found it lying on the floor after I’d delivered those wigs to darling Glumboots’s dressing room. It’s so much prettier than the ones we usually wear. Don’t you think so, Auguste?”
“I do, Hetty,” he replied. “Very much prettier, but alas...”
The Man With Two Grins
by Richard Helms
Richard Helms’s first story for us, 2010’s “The Gods for Vengeance Cry,” featured unlicensed P.I. Pat Gallegher. The tale was nominated for the Macavity and Derringer awards and won the International Thriller Award. Gallegher has also starred in four well-received novels, and will appear again soon in the novel Paid in Spades. Meanwhile, here he is in another thrilling short case.