“From Ben’s exit, Clem,” Poole said, and after a moment Helena turned and addressed herself to the empty stage on her left.
“I’ve only one thing to say, but it’s between the three of us.” She turned to Parry and Darcey. “Do you mind?” she asked them.
Parry said: “I don’t understand and I’m past minding.”
Darcey said: “My head is buzzing with a sense of my own inadequacy. I shall be glad to be alone.”
They went out, each on his own line, leaving Helena, Adam, and the ghost of Bennington on the stage.
Helena spoke again to vacancy. “It must be clear to you, now. It’s the end, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Clem’s voice said. “I understand you perfectly. Good-bye, my dear.”
They watched the door on the left. Alleyn took out his watch. Helena made a quick movement as if to prevent the departure of an unseen person and Poole laid his hand on her arm. They brought dead Ben back to the stage by their mime and dismissed him as vividly. It seemed that the door must open and shut for him as he went out.
Poole said: “And now I must speak to you alone.” There followed a short passage of dialogue which he and Helena played a tempo but with muted voices. Jacko, in the wings, clapped his hands and the report was as startling as a gun-shot. Poole ran out through the left-hand door.
Helena traced a series of movements about the stage. Her gestures were made in the manner of an exercise but the shadow of their significance was reflected in her face. Finally she moved into the window and seemed to compel herself to look out. Poole re-entered.
“Thank you,” Alleyn said, shutting his watch. “Fifty seconds. Will you all come on again, if you please?”
When they had assembled in their old positions, he said: “Did anyone notice Mr. Poole as he waited by the door for his re-entry?”
“The door’s recessed,” Poole said. “I was more or less screened.”
“Someone off-stage may have noticed, however.” He looked from Darcey to Percival.
“We went straight to our rooms,” said Parry.
“Together?”
“I was first. Miss Tarne was in the entrance to the passage and I spoke to her for a moment. J.G. followed me, I think.”
“Do you remember this, Miss Tarne?”
It had been at the time when Martyn had begun to come back to earth. It was like a recollection from a dream. “Yes,” she said. “I remember. They both spoke to me.”
“And went on down the passage?”
“Yes.”
“To be followed in a short time by yourself and Mr. Bennington?”
“Yes.”
“And then Mr. Doré joined you and you went to your rooms?”
“Yes.”
“So that after Mr. Bennington had gone to his room, you, Mr. Percival, were in your dressing-room, which is next door to his, Mr. Darcey was in his room which is on the far side of Mr. Percival’s, and Miss Tarne was in her room — or more correctly, perhaps, Miss Gainsford’s — with Mr. Doré, who joined her there after looking in on Mr. Bennington. Right?”
They murmured an uneasy assent.
“How long were you all in these rooms?”
Jacko said: “I believe I have said I adjusted this Infant’s make-up and returned with her to the stage.”
“I think,” said Martyn, “that the other two went out to the stage before we did. I remember hearing them go up the passage together. That was before the call for the final curtain. We went out after the call, didn’t we, Jacko?”
“Certainly, my Infant. And by that time you were a little more awake, isn’t it? The pink clouds had receded a certain distance?”
Martyn nodded, feeling foolish. Poole came behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “So there would appear at least to be an alibi for the Infant Phenomenon,” he said. It was the most natural and inevitable thing in the world for her to lean back. His hands moved to her arms and he held her to him for an uncharted second while a spring of well-being broke over her astounded heart.
Alleyn looked from her face to Poole’s and she guessed that he wondered about their likeness to each other. Poole, answering her thoughts and Alleyn’s unspoken question, said: “We are remotely related, but I am not allowed to mention it. She’s ashamed of the connection.”
“That’s unlucky,” Alleyn said with a smile, “since it declares itself so unequivocally.”
Gay Gainsford said loudly to Darcey: “Do you suppose, darling, they’d let me get my cigarettes?”
Helena said: “Here you are, Gay.” Darcey had already opened his case and held it out to her in his right hand. His left hand was in his trousers pocket. His posture was elegant and modish, out of keeping with his look of anxiety and watchfulness.
“Where are your cigarettes?” Alleyn asked and Gay said quickly: “It doesn’t matter, thank you. I’ve got one. I won’t bother. I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“But where are they?”
“I don’t really know what I’ve done with them.”
“Where were you during the performance?”
She said impatiently: “It really doesn’t matter. I’ll look for them later or something.”
“Gay,” said Jacko, “was in the Greenroom throughout the show.”
“Lamprey will see if he can find them.”
The young constable said: “Yes, of course, sir,” and went out.
“In the Greenroom?” Alleyn said. “Were you there all the time, Miss Gainsford?”
Standing in front of her with his back to Alleyn, Darcey held a light to her cigarette. She inhaled and coughed violently. He said: “Gay didn’t feel fit enough to move. She curled up in a chair in the Greenroom. I was to take her home after the show.”
“When did you leave the Greenroom, Miss Gainsford?”
But it seemed that Gay had half-asphyxiated herself with her cigarette. She handed it wildly to Darcey, buried her face in her handkerchief and was madly convulsed. P. C. Lamprey returned with a packet of cigarettes, was waved away with vehemence, gave them to Darcey and on his own initiative fetched a cup of water.
“If the face is congested,” Dr. Rutherford advised from the sofa, “hold her up by the heels.” His eyes remained closed.
Whether it was the possibility of being subjected to this treatment or the sip of water that Darcey persuaded her to take or the generous thumps on her back, administered by Jacko, that effected a cure, the paroxysm abated. Alleyn, who had watched this scene thoughtfully, said: “If you are quite yourself again, Miss Gainsford, will you try to remember when you left the Greenroom?”
She shook her head weakly and said in an invalid’s voice: “Please, I honestly don’t remember. Is it very important?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Gay!” cried Helena, with every sign of the liveliest irritation. “Do stop being such an unmitigated ass. You’re not choking: if you were your eyes would water and you’d probably dribble. Of course it’s important. You were in the Greenroom and next door to Ben. Think!”
“But you can’t imagine—” Gay said wildly. “Oh, Aunty — I’m sorry, I mean Helena — I do think that’s a frightful thing to suggest.”
“My dear Gay,” Poole said, “I don’t suppose Helena or Mr. Alleyn or any of us imagines you went into Ben’s room, knocked him senseless with a straight left to the jaw and then turned the gas on. We merely want to know what you did do.”
J.G., who had given a sharp ejaculation and half risen from his chair, now sank back.
Alleyn said: “It would also be interesting, Mr. Poole, to hear how you knew about the straight left to the jaw.”
Poole was behind Martyn and a little removed from her. She felt his stillness in her own bones. When he spoke it was a shock rather than a relief to hear how easy and relaxed his voice sounded.