“Good heavens! Whatever next?”
“They did convince me of one thing. When Rinkley was taken ill, they fully expected that you, and not Donald Bourton, would take Pyramus upon you. They stressed that, although Bourton had made himself somewhat objectionable to them in certain ways, and Rinkley had done the same in certain other ways, they had nothing against you at all, and certainly had no reason to wish you harm.”
“Fair enough. Beyond the general greetings at rehearsals and so forth, I doubt whether I ever spoke to them at all, and I don’t suppose they did know that Bourton, and not I, was to stand-in for Rinkley. Why should anybody have bothered to mention it to them? Once our cocktail party was over, I don’t suppose any of our guests gave the alteration another thought until Rinkley was actually laid low.”
“That brings us to another point. Unless one of the others told him, Rinkley himself did not know that Mr Bourton and not yourself was to be made his understudy. So much I had already had clear in my mind, so what it comes to is that the only people who were present when the change of understudy was suggested and agreed on were Marcus and Emma Lynn, yourself and Deborah, Brian and Valerie Yorke and Donald and Barbara Bourton. Those who were not told at the time and who may or may not have picked up the information later, are Tom and Peter Woolidge, Robina and David Lester, young Jasper Lynn, Rinkley himself, Susan Hythe and Caroline Frome. I leave out the children and am prepared to leave out Peter. The boy could have had no conceivable interest, so far as I can tell, in who would substitute for Rinkley should a substitute be called for, but Jasper may have heard something from his parents, so he cannot be ruled out.”
“Well, that’s got everybody pegged out on the line,” said Jonathan, “so now, I suppose, you’ll take a closer look at those who knew of the alteration.”
“Useless, until we get some evidence. I have little hope of the antiques dealers. The purchase of the rapier-dagger may have been made years ago and not necessarily in this neighbourhood. The conversion of the rapier into a dagger may offer more scope. The newspapers now report that it was done recently.”
“You have taken Peter Woolidge and possibly Jasper Lynn off your list, but what about David Lester? He is only about their age—well, Peter’s age—you know. Doesn’t he qualify to be let off the hook?”
“I understand from the two young women that his mother had been roughly spoken to by Rinkley and that the young man was also very angry when the girls told him about Bourton’s conduct off-stage with them.”
“So whether Rinkley or Bourton was the intended victim, you are keeping David very much in the picture. He had reason to dislike both men.”
“Yes, but he may have thought Jonathan was to be the understudy. However, he was one of the workmen and, as Lion, had access to the tables which held the properties.”
“Well, so had his mother and the two girls, come to that. I suppose that’s why you have kept them on your list, but I don’t suppose for a moment that they had anything to do with changing over the daggers, you know,” said Deborah. “They wouldn’t nurse that sort of grudge.”
The next visitor was the Chief Constable of the county. He, too, had received a letter, but not directly and it was not anonymous. It had been sent to the local police station and had been handed to the Chief Constable by the superintendent with the remark, “One for Dame Beatrice, perhaps, sir, now that she has been co-opted on to the strength.” The letter ran:
“I don’t suppose it’s what you are looking for, as my shop is twenty miles from your town, but I sold a rapier to a young lad about six weeks ago, and the hilt looks a little bit like the hilt of the one in your picture which came on the TV last night after the late news, also an incised letter or two on the blade, but not very distinct in your picture. I do not usually bother with the late news, having seen it earlier and liking an early bedtime, but if I could see the dagger you have I might be able to identify it. I sold it to a young lad as a rapier which he said was for theatricals. I warned him to be careful, as it was Toledo steel and made for real use. I was surprised he had the money to buy it.”
The letter was signed Tessa Wells and was sent from an address in the little town of Saxonchurch which was indeed about twenty miles off and lay between broad, lazy rivers which meandered through meadow-lands and past what had been a monastery before the Dissolution. The rivers eventually found their way into the enormous, shallow bay overlooked by Jonathan’s temporary home.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything in it,” said the Chief Constable, referring to the information in the letter, “but in a puzzling case of this kind I suppose we must catch at straws. The Super thinks so, anyway, and so does Conway, I gather.”
“A puzzling case?” said Dame Beatrice.
“Yes, because, so far as I can see, it could be a case of accident, suicide or murder. You pays your money and you takes your choice.”
“Oh, I choose murder. The substitution of the lethal dagger for that with the retractable blade was no accident, although there is a distinct possibility that it did not kill the person it was intended to kill. Suicide, from all that I have been told, seems unlikely. Incidentally, this woman’s reference to theatricals may be important if she identifies the lethal weapon and can describe the customer who purchased the rapier.”
“It’s a very long shot, don’t you think?”
“Yes, indeed. However, I shall be interested to meet this shopkeeper. There is only one young man on our books who is still a schoolboy and interested, to some extent, in amateur theatricals, but there are two others, not so much older, who took part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“But what reason would any of these boys have had to murder Rinkley, Bourton, or your nephew?”
“No reason at all except, perhaps, for young David Lester. He may have felt resentment at the way Rinkley had insulted his mother’s stagecraft and at the way Bourton had attempted to take advantage of two young women in whom he seems to have taken an interest, his fellow Thespians Susan Hythe and Caroline Frome, both of whom have been to see me.”
“Have you met David Lester?”
“No. I shall make a point of speaking with him before I go to Saxonchurch.”
“As I see it, he would have had as much opportunity as anybody else to change over the daggers.”
“His lion-skin was on a table with the rest of the properties, it is true, but I adhere to my theory that the daggers were changed over before the play opened on the third night. I have my reasons for thinking so and I have not changed my mind, although I am willing to be convinced.”
Young David Lester, fresh-faced and looking less than his twenty-two years, was employed in a bank, but not at the branch of which his father was manager. He lived with his parents and his mother had answered Detective-Inspector Conway’s telephone call.
“You want to bring Dame Beatrice to see David? But why?” Robina had enquired. Conway’s answer had not reassured her and she admitted the visitors in a reserved manner which indicated that she regarded their advent as an intrusion.
“I don’t know how you think David can help you,” she said.
“We don’t suppose he can,” said Conway, “but Dame Beatrice has talked to most of the actors and wouldn’t wish to leave anybody out.”
“She has left me out, for a start.”
“If you can convince me that you had any reason to wish Mr Bourton dead,” began Dame Beatrice, pausing for an instant. Robina took up the challenge.
“Of course I hadn’t, and neither had David,” she said. “You will get nothing out of him because he knows nothing. Why has the inquest been adjourned? That’s what I’d like to know. Donald’s death was the result of a stupid accident due to somebody’s carelessness. Why couldn’t they leave it at that?”