Anxious and frustrated, the two men spent amiserable afternoon together, and were much relieved when they wereable to leave the hotel at five o’clock to join Mrs. AnnemarieThedford in her suite for a cold supper before the evening’sperformance of The School For Scandal.
With Brodie present, the conversation duringthe meal was perforce general and not unpleasant. As a native NewYorker, Brodie was intensely interested in Annemarie’s banteringgossip about the rise and pratfalls of various prominent gentlemen,as well as news about the theatrical life of the great city, ofwhich Annemarie was a fount of knowledge, much of it amusing. Forthe better part of an hour, all three managed to keep up thepretence of normality. But at last the polite conversation began toweaken, and pall.
Into one of the awkward silences Marc said,“Do you have an answer for us?”
“I do. I’ve thought about little else allday.”
“And?”
“And I’ll let you look at Dick’s papers for afew minutes after the performance – in my dressing-room. Thenthey’ll go straight back into the safe.” She looked at him long andhard, unsmiling. “I’m trusting you to be discreet. Dick’s name hasbeen sullied enough already. If it’s blackened further, I may notbe able to forgive you – or myself.”
“Thank you. We all want the same thing forDick. The truth will be discovered and disclosed. That is apromise.”
Annemarie offered him a smile, but Marc couldnot read the thought behind it.
***
It was difficult to laugh at a play all about scandaland human hypocrisy in a city that seemed to personify it, but Marcfound himself doing so. As did Brodie beside him. For better thantwo hours Mr. Sheridan seduced them away from anxiety on the wingsof ridicule and the ultimate triumph of truth. A few minutes beforethe play ended, Marc, who was seated next to an aisle, whispered toBrodie that he was going to slip backstage and meet his mother asshe came off after taking her curtain-calls. He wanted to escorther safely to her dressing-room and make sure they were not beingwatched. Brodie could come along a few minutes later and standguard outside the door.
Marc sneaked past a dozing usher into thewings on the left side of the stage, and stood silently behind oneof the flats at the rear. A burst of applause alerted him to theplay’s conclusion, and he peered out at the line of actors steppingforward to accept the plaudits of the audience. Although Annemariehad had only a secondary role, her fame was not to beunacknowledged, and Marc’s heart swelled with pride as his mothertook two steps forward on her own and curtsied. At that moment,something made Marc look up – into the bright, gas-lit candelabrumthat illuminated centre-stage, and then beyond to the flies andscrims towards the complicated rigging that allowed them to beartfully manipulated. One of the stagehands was perched on acatwalk that ran the width of the stage about twenty feet above it.Marc froze. The fellow held a long-bladed knife in one hand and wasreaching out in an attempt to slash the rope attached to one of thebulky counterweights. The sandbag was poised directly above hismother.
The knife-blade flashed, the rope wasinstantly severed and, with the warning cry stuck in his throat,Marc watched in horror as the deadly missile dropped straight down.It struck the boards with a mighty thump, less than a yard fromMrs. Thedford. The actors, like the audience, were momentarilystunned. Someone had the good sense to begin lowering the curtainjust as mayhem and confusion broke out everywhere.
Seeing his mother safe for the time being,Marc sprinted past the actors, who were looking helplessly up intothe blazing lights or trying to decide which way to run. He hadspotted the knife-wielder scrabbling along the catwalk towards aladder in the opposite wing. Marc arrived there just as the fellowreached the bottom rung. His eyes widened with fright when he sawMarc charging at him like a man gone berserk. He turned and madefor the stairs and the hallway that led to the rooms behind thestage. Marc decided that a crippling tackle was the surest means ofcutting off the villain’s escape. He threw himself into the airwith arms outstretched, just as his quarry stumbled, cursed, andtoppled sideways. Marc went hurtling past him, and felt the suddenemptiness of the space above the stairs before he crashed headlongonto their abrupt angles. At this point, the lights, mercifully,went out.
***
“He’s awake.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m sure nothing’s broken.”
“Did he get away?” Marc said as he opened hiseyes fully and took in Brodie, his mother and the vaguely familiarsurroundings.
“We carried you over here to Mrs. Thedford’ssuite. You’ve got a nasty bump on your forehead,” Brodie said,wanting to be helpful.
Marc’s mother moved behind the arm of thesofa and placed a cold compress on the part of his head thatthrobbed the most. He felt a series of stabbing, needle-like painsalong his right arm and below his right knee.
“You fell down a flight of five stairs,”Brodie said.
“Did you catch the bastard?” Marc said,trying to sit up.
“He got away,” Annemarie said.
“But we know who he was,” Brodie said.
Annemarie sighed. “It was young Withers, thenew stagehand. He knew how to get out of the building quickly. Wefound the knife he used on the catwalk.”
“Then we’ll catch up with him,” Marc said,feeling woozy and taking the compress from his mother. “I’ll be allright. It’s that villain we need to track down: he tried to killyou. We’ll beat the truth out of him.”
“He’s long gone, Marc. The Tammany peoplewill see that he’s never found. And if he had been intending tokill me, he wouldn’t have missed. Withers could put a fly down on aline no wider than a knife-edge.”
“But it barely missed you!” This exclamationinduced a more active throbbing in his head, and Marc sagged backagainst a cushion.
“That sandbag was meant as a warning,”Annemarie said. “As a form of intimidation. That’s the way Tammanyoperates.”
“So they do know you have the fifthaffidavit, and you think they were telling you to hand it over tothem?”
“Something like that.”
Brodie coughed and looked at Annemarie, whonodded.
“What is it?” Marc said. “What else hashappened?”
“Your mother’s dresser told us that sometimeduring the last act someone broke into the dressing-room, rippedthe safe out of the wall, and took it away with him. The rest ofthe room was a shambles.”
“Damn! We should have put a permanent guardthere as soon as we suspected they were on to us.”
“Well, they seem to have gotten what theyreally wanted,” Annemarie said.
“But surely they must believe you yourselfhave looked at those incriminating documents,” Marc said. “If so,you are still in extreme danger.”
“Not really. Tammany now have the swornstatement and the name of the unfortunate informant. All else ismere speculation, and of no real threat to them.”
Marc tried to stand up, but the pain in hisknee caused his leg to buckle, and he sat back down. “Then we havelost,” he said.
“Not entirely,” Annemarie said veryquietly.
“What do you mean?” Brodie said.
“Before he left, your guardian gave me asmall sealed envelope. He said it contained one sheet of paper. Onit he had written down the names of the pedophiles he had gleanedfrom his interviews with the boys. ‘Just the names,’ he said, ‘sothat whatever else happens, you will know who these dreadful menare.’”
“Nothing else, then?” Marc asked, deflatedyet again.
“That’s what he said. But why don’t we lookfor ourselves?”
Marc and Brodie were equally astonished.
“I’ve kept it here, in my desk, these pastmonths – unopened.”
As they watched her, doubting whether such alist would be of any material value but unwilling to abandon hope,she went over to a gleaming, rosewood davenport, opened its drawer,and drew out a sealed, brown envelope. She broke the seal andremoved a single sheet of white paper. Slowly she gazed at what waswritten there, nodding and sighing as she did.