From outside in the corridor came the sound of applause, an oath, and rapidly retreating footsteps.
Alleyn reopened the door to disclose Harry Grove, gently clapping his hands, and Marcus Knight striding down the corridor.
Harry said, “Isn’t he superb? Honestly, you have to hand it to him.” He drew a parcel from his pocket. “Baby roulette,” he said. “Trevor can work out systems. It is true that this is a sort of identification parade?”
“You could put it like that I suppose,” Alleyn agreed.
“Do you mean,” Hairy said, changing colour, “that this unfortunate but nauseating little boy may suddenly point his finger at one of us and enunciate in ringing tones: ‘It all comes back to me. He dunnit’ ”
“That, roughly, is the idea.”
“Then I freely confess it terrifies me.”
“Come inside and get it over.”
“Very well. But I’d have you know that he’s quite capable of putting on a false show of recovery smartly followed up by a still falser accusation. Particularly,” Harry said grimly, “in my case when he knows the act would draw loud cheers and much laughter from all hands and the cook.”
“We’ll have to risk it. In you go.”
Alleyn opened the door and followed Harry into the room.
Trevor had slithered down again in his bed and had dropped off into a convalescent cat-nap. Harry stopped short and stared at him.
“He looks,” he whispered, “as if he was quite a nice little boy, doesn’t he? You’d say butter wouldn’t melt. Is he really asleep or is it an act?”
“He dozes. If you just lean over him he’ll wake.”
“It seems a damn shame, I must say.”
“All the same I’ll ask you to do it, if you will. There’s a bruise on the cheekbone that mystifies us all. I wonder if you’ve any ideas. Have a look at it.”
A trolley jingled past the door and down the corridor. Outside on the river a barge hooted. Against the multiple, shapeless voice of London, Big Ben struck one o’clock.
Harry put his parcel on the tray.
“Look at the bruise on his face. His hair’s fallen across it. Move his hair back and look.”
Harry stooped over the boy and put out his left hand.
From behind the screen in the corner there rang out a single, plangent note. “Twang.”
Trevor opened his eyes, looked into Harry’s face and screamed.
ELEVEN
The Show Will Go On
Harry Grove had given no trouble. When Trevor screamed he stepped back from him. He was sheet-white but he achieved a kind of smile.
“No doubt,” he had said to Alleyn, “you will now issue the usual warning and invite me to accompany you to the nearest police station. May I suggest that Perry should be informed. He’ll want to get hold of my understudy.”
And as this was the normal procedure it had been carried out.
So now, at Alleyn’s suggestion, they had returned, not to the Yard but to The Dolphin. Here for the first time Mr. Conducis kept company with the actors that he employed. They sat round the circle foyer while, down below, the public began to cue up for the early doors.
Peregrine had called Harry Grove’s understudy and he and the new child-actor were being rehearsed behind the fire curtain by the stage-director.
“I think,” Alleyn said, “it is only fair to give you all some explanation since each of you has to some extent been involved. These, as I believe, are the facts about Saturday night. I may say that Hartly Grove has admitted to them in substance.
“Grove left the theatre with Miss Meade and her party, saying he would go to Canonbury and pick up his guitar. He had in fact brought his guitar to the theatre and had hidden it in a broom cupboard in the Property Room where it was found, in the course of his illicit explorations, by Trevor. Grove got into his open sports car, drove round the block and parked the car in Phipps Passage. He re-entered the theatre by the pass-door while Mr. Meyer and Mr. Knight were in the office. He may have been seen by Jobbins, who would think nothing of it as Grove was in the habit of coming round for messages. He was not seen by Miss Bracey who mistook Jobbins for him because of the coat.
“Grove remained hidden throughout the rumpus about Trevor until, as he thought, the theatre was deserted except for Jobbins. At eleven o’clock he dialled his own number and let it ring just long enough for his wakeful neighbour to hear it and suppose it had been answered.
“It must have given him a shock when he heard Trevor, in the course of his fooling, pluck the guitar string. It was that scrap of evidence, by the way, when you remembered it, Jay, that set me wondering if Grove had left his instrument in the theatre and not gone to Canonbury. A moment later he heard the stage-door slam and thought, as Mr. Jay and Miss Dunne and Jobbins did, that Trevor had gone. But Trevor had sneaked back and was himself hiding and dodging about the auditorium. He saw Miss Bracey during his activities. Later, he tells us, he caught sight of Harry Grove and began to stalk him like one of his comic-strip heroes. We have the odd picture of Grove stealing to the broom-cupboard to collect his guitar, flitting like a shadow down a side passage, leaving the instrument ready to hand near the front foyer. Inadvertently, perhaps, causing it to emit that twanging sound.”
Peregrine gave a short ejaculation but when Alleyn looked at him said: “No. Go on. Go on.”
“Having dumped the guitar Grove returned to the stairway from the stage to the circle, climbed it and waited for midnight in the upper box. And, throughout this performance, Trevor peeped, followed, listened, spied.
“At midnight Jobbins left his post under the treasure and went downstairs to ring Police and Fire. Grove darted to the wall panel, opened it, used his torch and manipulated the combination. There had been a lot of talk about the lock after the safe was installed and before the treasure was put into it. At that time it was not guarded and I think he may have done a bit of experimenting, after hours, on the possible ‘glove’ combination.”
Winter Meyer knocked on his forehead and groaned. Marcus Knight said: “Oh God!”
“He opened the safe, removed the display-stand with its contents and I think only then realized he had engaged the switch that operates the front doors and the interior lighting. At that moment Trevor, who had stolen quite close (just as he did to me when I looked at the safe), said— It is his favourite noise at the moment— ‘Z-z-z-z-yock. Slash.’
“It must have given Grove a nightmarish jolt. He turned, saw the boy standing there in the darkened circle and bolted into the foyer clutching his loot. Only to find Jobbins rushing upstairs at him. He pushed the dolphin pedestal over and down. As Jobbins fell, Trevor came out of the circle and saw it all. Trevor is still not quite clear here but he thinks he screamed. He knows Grove made for him and he remembers plunging down the central steps in the circle. Grove caught him at the bottom. Trevor says—and this may be true—that he snatched the display-stand and threw it overboard before Grove could recover it. The last thing he remembers now is Grove’s face close to his own. It was the sight of it this morning, near to him, in association with the single twang effected by my colleague, Inspector Fox, who was modestly concealed behind a screen, that bridged the gap in Trevor’s memory.”
“A faint perfume,” Peregrine said loudly, “and a most melodious twang.”
“That’s Aubrey, isn’t it?” Alleyn asked. “But shouldn’t it be a curious perfume? Or not?”
Peregrine stared at him. “It is,” he said, “and it should. You’re dead right and why the hell it’s eluded me I cannot imagine. I heard it, you know, when Jobbins was hunting the boy.”
Emily said: “And, of course, it’s a single plangent note that brings down the curtain on The Cherry Orchard.”
“You see, Emily?” said Peregrine.
“I see,” she said.