“Are you connected with the police?” was the cautious query in a woman’s voice.
“Not directly, no.”
“Are you a reporter, then?”
“Oh, no, certainly not.”
“Do you wish to join the club?”
“No. We wanted to see the Brayne stage-manager about hiring costumes and props.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I can give you the address of the people they hire from. Won’t that do?”
Laura gave in and agreed that that would do. She took down the address as the woman dictated it, thanked her, and rang off.
“The answer’s a lemon,” she informed Dame Beatrice. “It was obvious that his wife, or whoever she is, wasn’t going to extend an invitation to us to visit him.”
“She has my sympathy. I expect they have had a surfeit of visitors since these mysterious deaths were first reported in the newspapers.”
“If we briefed old Kitty, I wonder whether she would muscle in?”
“I daresay she would, but, as I said before, apart from taking a purely academic interest in what has occurred, I do not think we have any right to involve ourselves in the business.”
“But you said you had a ray of light, and it seems pretty certain that the police haven’t even got that. I mean, there can’t be any doubt now, as we’ve agreed, but that Falstaff was murdered. You said yourself that the death of Henry VIII proves that, if any proof was needed. I’ll get on to old Kitty, then, shall I?”
“Go and see the costumiers first. It may strengthen your hand.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“No. You will manage better on your own.”
The costumiers lived in south-east London. The house consisted of two floors and a basement and the place was crammed with theatrical costumes and accessories of all descriptions. The atmosphere was claustrophobic and depressing, but there were several eager customers and the woman who admitted Laura informed her that she would be attended to as soon as possible and invited her, in the meantime, to “have a good look round, dear, and see if there’s anything you fancy.”
After about a quarter of an hour, during which Laura studied a long stand whose coathangers held samples of the costumes of every period from Roman to Early Victorian, a man in a frock coat of 1895 vintage and wearing a luxurious toupee of silver-grey, came up and asked what he could do for her.
“The costume of an Elizabethan gentleman,” said Laura.
“Just the one, madam?”
“No, I shall need two.”
“Just so. I will give you a form to fill in.”
“Oh, yes? What for?”
“Well, madam, we shall need to know chest and leg measurements.”
“Oh, I see. I wonder whether you could show me one or two of the costumes? I should like to have some idea of colour.”
“Certainly, madam, although you’ll appreciate we cannot guarantee that the colour you select will necessarily be the size the gentlemen require in the costumes. Come this way, madam.”
There was a pretty fair selection and the clothes were in good condition.
“I believe you recently fitted out a production of a Shakespeare play,” said Laura, casually.
“We are always fitting out Shakespearian productions, madam. They are extremely popular with amateurs. No royalties to be paid, you see.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose that’s so.” She wondered just how far she should go, and decided to hold back for a bit. She would gain nothing by a direct enquiry if these people had already been visited by the police. She busied herself by closely inspecting the Elizabethan costumes.
“Is your enquiry on behalf of young or rather older gentlemen, madam?” enquired the man, at last.
“As a matter of fact, one of them is for me and the other for my brother.”
“Then, if I might make a suggestion…” he eyed Laura’s generous proportions, “…would you not consider an Elizabethan lady’s costume for yourself? Then you and the gentleman would make a pair, would you not?”
“If it was for a fancy dress ball, yes, we would. But it seems impossible to get enough men to fill the parts in an amateur dramatic society, so you see…”
“Oh, perfectly, madam.”
“Well, so far as colour goes, there doesn’t seem anything in it. I’d rather like blue for myself, but it wouldn’t really matter. The costumes would have to be different colours, of course. It wouldn’t do for both to be alike. Oh, I suppose the hire of the costumes includes hats and shoes and swords?” said Laura, as though this was an afterthought.
“Hats are included. Shoes and swords would be extra.”
“I see. I should have thought shoes would be included as an essential part of the costume.”
“We used to include them, madam, but were forced to discontinue the custom, since so many times we got back either no shoes at all, or merely the one. Swords also either did not come back at all, or were bent and damaged.”
“Now that you charge, do you have the same trouble?”
“No, madam. A deposit equal to the value of the shoes and sword is payable upon hire and is returnable, less the charge for hiring.”
“So you never lose anything now?”
“Not since we introduced the new system, madam.”
“Not even a sword?” asked Laura, pressing her point.
“No, we have never lost a sword, madam, but some weeks ago we lost two valuable costumes. A group had ordered them from a place called Brayne. You may have read about the unhappy event there in which a young gentleman lost his life in some rough horseplay during a performance?”
“Oh, I believe I did read something about it,” said Laura carelessly. “Didn’t they do The Merry Wives of Windsor?”
“I believe that was it, madam. It was all extremely unfortunate. You see, we overlooked the necessity for a second sword, so I understand that a real sword was used, and caused the accident. Then there was a second death, and the two costumes have been retained by the police. I am still in correspondence with the club secretary for the cost of their replacement.”
“Oh, dear! Won’t the police send them back, then, later on?”
“It would be impossible to let either costume go out again, madam. I understand that both are stiff with blood.”
Laura left, bearing with her a printed form on which she could record measurements and descriptions of the costumes she was to hire. She returned to Dame Beatrice with the results of her interview and observed that she thought she had been wasting her time. Dame Beatrice disagreed.
“The missing property-sword is now accounted for,” she said, “so a minor mystery has been cleared up, and I feel that every little helps.”
“I can’t see how this helps. The murderer couldn’t have known that the costume people wouldn’t send it.”
“No, of course not. That is what causes me to think that the murder had not long been premeditated.”
“But you think it was premeditated?”
“I am sure it must have been, and, if we only knew the motive, I feel sure we could name the murderer. In any case, it was somebody who knew that a real sword had been borrowed.”
“That brings us back to the cast again. Nobody else would have known.”
“Except the person or persons who lent the sword, of course.”
“Old Kitty is pretty sure it was borrowed from Squire’s Acre Hall. She told us so, if you remember.”
“Well, no doubt the police have satisfied themselves upon that point.”
“Incidentally, she didn’t spot that one of the swords was a real one, whereas I did. How do you make that out?”
“Subconsciously, your gymnastic training made you realise that the two swords, as worn during the performance, although they were similar in appearance, differed in weight.”
“Yes, they hung differently, I remember. But why didn’t old Kitty spot the same thing? I mean, clothes (with which she is, as you know, so closely associated) differ in hang and in weight, too.”