Once again the front of the house was dark.
“I think they are all here now, Inspector Alleyn,” said Simpson nervously.
“Ask them to come here, will you, Wilkins?” said Alleyn.
The company of The Rat and the Beaver reassembled for the last time on the stage of the Unicorn. They came down the passage in single file. Susan Max and Stephanie Vaughan appeared first. Then came Janet Emerald walking with the gait she used in the provinces for the last act of Madam X. Dulcie Deamer followed, expressing tragic bewilderment. Next came Felix Gardener, very white-faced and alone. Howard Melville and J. Barclay Crammer delayed their entrance and made it arm-in-arm with heads held high, like French aristocrats approaching the tumbrels.
“Everybody on the stage, please,” said George Simpson.
The players walked through the wings and stood quietly in a semi-circle. They looked attentive and businesslike. It was almost as though they had needed the stage and the lights to give them full solidity. They no longer seemed preposterous or even artificial. They were in their right environment and had become real.
Alleyn stood down by the float, facing the stage. From the auditorium, with the full stage lighting behind him, it was he who now looked a strange shadow, but for the actors there was no suggestion of this; to them he was in the accustomed place of the producer, and they watched him attentively.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Alleyn, “I have asked you to come here this morning in order that we may stage a reconstruction of the first scene in the last act of The Rat and the Beaver. In that scene, as you know, the deceased man, Mr. Arthur Surbonadier, loaded the revolver by which he was subsequently shot. You are all aware that Mr. Jacob Saint is under arrest He will not be present. Otherwise, with the exception of the deceased, whose part will be read by Mr. Simpson, we are all here.”
He paused for a moment. The stage manager looked as though he wanted to say something.
“Yes, Mr. Simpson?”
“Er — I don’t know if it matters. The property master has not turned up. As he gave me the dummies I thought perhaps—?”
“We shall have to do without him,” said Alleyn. “Are the dressers here?”
Simpson glanced offstage. Beadle and Trixie Beadle came through the wings and stood awkwardly at the end of the semi-circle.
“First I must tell you, all of you, that the police have formed a definite theory as regards this crime. It is in order to substantiate this theory that the reconstruction is necessary. I want to impress upon you that, apart from its distressing associations, there is nothing to worry about in the business. I merely ask the innocent members of the company to rehearse a particular scene in order to verify my theory as regards the movements of the guilty individual. I most earnestly beg of you to behave exactly as you did, so far as you can remember, during the last performance of this scene. I give you this opportunity to vindicate yourselves and at the same time establish the case which we shall bring before the court. I appeal to you to play fair. As innocent individuals you have nothing to fear. Is it agreed?”
He waited for a moment and then Barclay Crammer cleared his throat portentously. He advanced two paces and gazed into the auditorium.
“I do not know if Miss Vaughan or Mr. Gardener have anything to say—” he began.
“Nothing,” said Stephanie Vaughan quickly. “I’m quite ready to do it.”
“I too,” said Gardener.
“In that case,” continued Mr. Crammer deeply, “I may say at once that I am prepared to play out this horrible farce — to the end.” He let his voice break slightly. “God grant we may be the instruments to avenge poor Arthur.” He made a slight gesture expressive of noble resignation and very nearly bowed to the empty auditorium. The hidden Nigel refrained, with something of an effort, from giving him a heartfelt clap. Alleyn caught Gardener’s eye. Gardener looked as though he wanted to wink.
“That’s all settled, then,” said Alleyn. “Now the only difference between this and the real show is that I am not going to black-out the lights. I will ask those of you who were in your dressing-rooms at the end of the interval to go to them now. Any movement that you made from one room to another you will repeat. You will see that I have stationed officers along the passages. Please behave exactly as if they were not there. The conversation on the stage between Miss Max, Mr. Surbonadier, Miss Emerald, and Mr. Simpson before the curtain went up, we will reproduce as closely as possible. I will blow this whistle at the point when you are to imagine the black-out takes place, and again when the lights would go on. Now will you all go to your dressing-rooms?”
They filed off quietly. Simpson went to the prompt box and Sergeant Wilkins joined him there.
Alleyn had a word with both of them. Fox and Bailey stood offstage by the first and third left entrances. Two other men went to the O. P. Thompson and a third man disappeared down the dressing-room passage.
“Right,” said Alleyn, and walked down to the float.
“Call the last act, please,” said Simpson to Sergeant Wilkins.
Wilkins went off down the dressing-room passage. His voice could be heard on the stage.
“Last act, please, last act, please!”
Miss Max, who dressed in a room round the elbow of the passage, came out first, walked on to the stage, sat in the chair on the O. P. side, and took out her knitting. She was followed by Janet Emerald who went straight to the upstage window.
“Stay there as if you were speaking to Surbonadier,” said Alleyn quietly. “Now, Mr. Simpson.”
Simpson came out of the prompt box and went to the desk. He mimed the business of putting something in the top drawer.
“Now, Miss Emerald,” said Alleyn.
“I don’t remember — what I said.”
“About the cartridges, dear,” said Miss Max quietly.
“I–I’m always afraid you’ll forget those cartridges,” said Janet Emerald,
“Trust little Georgie, ” said Simpson.
“George, come over here. I want to show you something. This mat is bad where it is, dear.”
“What’s wrong with the mat, Susan?”
“It jams the door and spoils my eggzit.”
“Is that better?”
“That’s where it should be. Come here and let me measure my scarf.”
“Now, Miss Emerald, you spoke to Surbonadier.”
“I–I can’t. It’s too horrible.”
“Go across to the left and meet Mr. Simpson. You say: ‘Arthur’s tight, George, and I’m nervous.’ ”
“Arthur’s tight, George, and I’m nervous.”
“He’s giving a damn’ good show, anyway.”
“Now you whisper: ‘I’d like to kill him,’ and stand with your hands on the desk.”
“I’d — like — to kill—”
“All clear, please.”
Janet Emerald stood up and faced upstage.
“House lights. Stand by, please. Black-out.”
Alleyn blew a long blast on his whistle. Simpson with the book in his hand went on to the stage. Alleyn stood in the wings, where he could see the stage and dressing-room passage. Melville, who had stood near the prompt box, went tiptoe down the passage and round the elbow. Miss Vaughan came out of her room, leaving the door open; she knocked on Gardener’s door. He called: “Come in,” and she entered, closing the door behind her. It reopened to let out old Beadle. He stood outside, produced a cigarette and held it, unlit, in his mouth. Trixie Beadle came out of the star-room and joined him. They moved into the elbow of the passage.