“I sat between my friend Mrs Gavin here, and my husband. A row of Councillors was behind us. The Mayor and Mayoress, the Town Clerk and the vicar and his wife were in the front row with me, and…”
“Thank you very much, Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg. You will appreciate that I am bound to ask these questions. When exactly did you receive the first intimation that Mr Luton was missing?”
“Well, as I told you, at the end of the interval. We were waiting for the curtain to go up on Scene Two, and, of course, it didn’t, so I felt bound to find out why not.”
“I understand that you then went on to the stage and informed the audience that one of the actors was ill. What made you say that? You did not know whether it was strictly true, did you?”
“Well, hang it all,” said Kitty reasonably, “you try standing up in front of the local coshboys and announcing that the chief actor can’t be found! If you can’t imagine the reaction, I can!”
The young detective-constable smiled.
“I take your point, madam. You mean you were anxious to save yourself and others embarrassment. Quite. Very sensible and tactful, I’m sure. Well, as you’ll have deduced, we are sure that it must have been during the interval that Mr Luton met his death. Of course, we are keeping an open mind about what actually happened. Would you know anything about two swords which were used in the production?”
“Only that one of them got mislaid at the last rehearsal. But it was all right on the night.”
“I am glad to hear that, madam.”
“So poor old Falstaff was murdered,” said Laura, when the policeman had gone. “It’s what all that added up to. His “glad to hear that, madam”, was a nice bit of irony, you know.”
“Murdered?” cried Kitty, scandalised, “How do you mean—murdered?”
“The swords. Didn’t it ring a bell in your mind when he mentioned them? When he said “stabbed” what he really meant was that somebody must have run Falstaff through with a sword.”
Kitty looked horrified and incredulous.
“But you couldn’t run anybody through with a property sword, Dog,” she said—“or could you?”
“So you didn’t notice that one of the so-called property swords was a real one? I did.”
“Then why on earth didn’t you tell me at the time?”
“There didn’t seem any point in telling you. They didn’t fight a duel with them. I thought nothing of it at all until now, but I bet you Falstaff was killed with the real one.”
“That poor little man! He seemed so utterly harmless.”
“Yes. I wonder how they managed the rest of it.”
“They? Managed the rest of what?”
“Well, all I mean is that two people would have been needed to carry the body down to the river and dump it in the mud.”
“I don’t see that, Dog. He was ever such a slight little man. Even the cushions, to make him look fat, were inflatable and hardly weighed a thing.”
“I suppose the police are asking everybody who was involved with The Merry Wives the same questions as this chap asked you. I’m glad you had an alibi for the time when it must have been done.”
“But why should I want to kill the poor soul?” wailed Kitty.
“Why should anybody want to? That’s one thing the police will have to find out. The means, I would say, are pretty obvious, and the opportunity presented itself. All that remains to be discovered, as you so rightly point out, is the motive. The only thing is that I don’t see how it could have been done during the interval.”
“Why not, Dog?”
“Too many people milling about. Think of all those schoolkids! In any case, how many people knew there was going to be an interval before you actually announced it to the audience?”
“Nobody but The Merry Wives cast, so far as I know.”
“Somebody in the cast may have told somebody outside the cast.”
“I wonder where those menservants were—those who carried out the basket. Where were they, and what were they doing, when Falstaff was killed?—because I can’t believe either of them did it. They were the only nice people in the play, except for that little boy,” said Kitty.
“If they didn’t do it, what were they doing, and where were they, with fifty-one pubs in the town—beg pardon, borough—and one of them bang opposite the Town Hall? Oh, Kay, don’t be such a nit-wit! It would have been the work of a moment to dump the basket and make a quick dash across the high street for a pint, and, if they’re innocent, I bet that’s exactly what they did. They’d have had heaps of time, knowing about the interval and everything!”
“But their costumes, Dog!”
“What are overcoats for? Think of the coy members of Toc H when we were waiting for the procession to move off! Besides, everybody in the borough knew about the pageant and about the show at the Town Hall. Apart from a beery jest or two—possibly not even that—I don’t suppose anybody in the pub bothered about what they looked like. Perhaps some sportsman even stood them a drink.”
“What worries me is the thought of that sword—the real one, you know. I ought to have stopped them using it, I suppose, but I simply didn’t notice it was real.” There was silence until Kitty added, “The murder could have been committed during the interval, I suppose. Do you think they all rushed over to the pub?”
“Probably not the women, anyway, and probably not the stage-manager. He’d have had to be on hand to direct the Council workmen who were to put up the scenery for the second scene,” said Laura. “But what I do think is that Page and Ford would have put off their swords during the interval. Cussed things, swords. Get between your legs and trip you up if you’re not jolly careful. Besides, the real sword would have been heavy.”
“So anybody could have committed the murder, then, and you’ve changed your mind. You mean it was done during the interval. Oh, but, Dog…”
“Yes, that’s the snag, isn’t it?”
“How did you guess what I meant?”
“Because I’d just thought the same thing myself. The murderer, unless he was one of the cast, couldn’t have known he’d find a weapon all ready to hand, and even the cast couldn’t have known that Ford and Page would put off their swords during the interval.”
“Whoever did it may have intended to use some other method, Dog, and then spotted the sword and decided it was a better idea.”
“Came armed with his own weapon, you mean?”
“You know, the more I think of it, Dog, the more certain I am that your first idea was right, and that it must have been done before the interval, and it must have been done by an outsider. Nobody in the cast would have murdered the chief character before the play was over. It’s dead against human nature. But how would a stranger get in?”
“By the same way as those comedians went out, of course. You didn’t have anybody on duty at the side door, did you?”
“The door that opens on to Smith Hill? No, I didn’t. I didn’t think it was necessary. I had warned everybody beforehand, and when I let those awful comedians out I knew they were tight, so I impressed on them about walking uphill to the high street and not downhill into the Thames. I wouldn’t have gone back-stage at all, except that I was afraid one of them might have hurt himself when he fell.”
“You didn’t bother about gate-crashers?”
“The house was full. A gate-crasher wouldn’t have been able to get a seat, even if he’d known about the side door. And, of course, Dog, you’ve got to remember that there were plenty of people who had a perfect right to be behind the scenes, apart from the cast and the workmen.”