“What do you mean? How are we going to see the play if we don’t sit in any row?”
“We are not going to see the play,” Malcolm said. “We will wait outside until the play is over and the audience has left. It will be dark in the auditorium then, so we will be able to sneak in without being seen.”
Chapter Eight
Rex Theater—New York, N.Y.
Rosanna (as LADY MARGARET): (sitting on the
ground of Castle Carrick, cradling Andrew’s, as
Lord Dumbarton, head in her lap) Oh, noble
Lord, were that I a man, that with claymore
and dirk I could have joined you in your
noble fight. You won, noble knight, you won,
for all those of the evil clan of Hutchins are
now dead. Ahh, but the sad thing is that,
even in your final victory, you gave your life.
(Takes Lord Dumbarton’s claymore sword and
holds it over her head) And with that sainted,
but Pyrrhic victory, I vow by all that is holy to
keep the name Lord Dumbarton forever in
my heart.
(Curtain closes)
The theater erupted with applause and cheers. Duff stood in the wings where he could see both the actors on the stage, and the audience, all of whom were now on their feet. It had been Duff, in his capacity as stage manager, who signaled the curtains closed, and now he brought his hand down again.
“Curtains open,” he hissed loudly enough for the stagehands to hear him, but not so loudly as to be heard by those in the audience.
The curtains opened again and all the secondary players rushed out to take their curtain call, their appearance onstage in inverse order of the significance of their roles. Finally, the last curtain call had been taken, the curtains closed, and the troupe gathered backstage.
“Wonderful performances from all of you,” Andrew said, congratulating all the actors and actresses. “We will meet here tomorrow at six, one hour before curtain rise. Don’t be late.”
The actors, still up from their performance, laughed and exchanged comments on the play as they headed for the dressing rooms to get out of costume and makeup.
“Oh, Julie, you were just wonderful,” one of the “nobles” said to the beautiful young woman who played the daughter of the Laird Carrick. “I have been in the theater for five years now, and have never seen an actress who, in her very first role onstage, performed it with such mastery.”
Duff chuckled to himself as he overheard the conversation. The young lady was certainly adequate to the role, but he knew Phillip Cain to be a notorious “ladies’ man,” and he knew that he was using flattery to attain his goal.
“Duff, will you be taking dinner tonight with Rosanna, me, and some of the others?” Andrew asked.
“I would like to, Andrew, but I think I will stay and work on the forest flats. I noticed during the play that they were not holding their position as well as they should.”
“Very well,” Andrew said. “But if you finish earlier than you suspect, please join us at Delmonico’s.”
“I shall,” Duff replied.
Duff waited until all the actors and stagehands were gone. Then he made certain that all the house lights were turned off and the backstage lights were on. He looked up at the flys to examine the flats that were used for the forest scene and saw at once where the problem lay. Lowering one of the flats, he took it to a work area offstage and placed it across two sawhorses. All he would have to do is adjust the frame to take out the warp.
Across the street from the theater, Malcolm, Roderick, and Alexander watched as the patrons left the theater. The theatergoers were talking about the play they had just seen.
“I swear, Rosanna MacCallister just gets more beautiful as she gets older.”
“It’s all makeup. I’ll bet she isn’t that pretty.”
“Makeup can’t make you more beautiful. It just enhances what is already there.”
“I liked the fight scene in the second act. It looked so real.”
“Of course it looked real. It’s called acting.”
“When are we going in?” Alexander said.
“When we are sure that everyone has left,” Malcolm said.
“They’re all gone now. You can tell that.”
“Don’t get so anxious. We need a plan,” Malcolm said.
“We have a plan. He killed our brother, and we are going to kill him. That is our plan,” Alexander said.
The lights outside the theater went off.
“Now,” Alexander said, starting across the street. “Let’s go.”
“Wait, it won’t take a minute to come up with a plan as to how we are going to do this,” Malcolm said.
“I don’t want to wait another minute. I want to kill him now,” Alexander said.
By now the three men were under the marquee and all the way up to the double doors that opened into the lobby.
“It’s locked,” Roderick said when he tried the door.
“I’ll take care of that,” Alexander said. He took out a pocketknife, opened it, then slipped it in between the doors. It took no more than a couple of seconds for him to overcome the lock and open the doors.
“Quiet,” Malcolm whispered as he closed the doors behind them.
“What if he is already gone?” Roderick whispered.
“He hasn’t gone. There are lights on back there, see?” Alexander said. “And he’s the stage manager, which means he would be the last to leave.”
The three men moved quietly through the darkened theater until they reached the stage. Then, climbing onto the stage, they stepped through the curtains and crossed the stage before moving into the backstage area.
That was when they saw Duff working on something with a plane.
Duff leaned over to see if he had leveled the edge of the flat.
“Duff MacCallister, we have come for you,” a familiar voice said from the darkness.
The voice was familiar, because it was the voice of Alexander Somerled.
Startled at hearing Alexander’s voice here, in America, Duff turned toward the sound, but saw nothing in the darkness. He was at a disadvantage, because while Alexander was cloaked by the darkness, he was well lighted.
“Alexander Somerled,” Duff said. “Have you come alone?” Duff moved away from the flat to the properties locker. Alongside the properties locker was the light control panel.
“I am with him,” Roderick said.
“And so am I, Deputy Malcolm,” a third voice said.
“Deputy Malcolm, is it?” Duff replied. “Well, you have wasted a trip, Deputy Malcolm, for you have no jurisdiction here. You cannot arrest me.”
“It is not for to arrest you we have come, Duff MacCallister, but to kill you,” Alexander said.
Reaching his hand up to the light control panel, Duff turned off the backstage lights. As soon as the theater went dark, he grabbed the claymore sword, the same sword Andrew and Rosanna had handled onstage. And though it was used as a prop, it was a real claymore sword, fifty-five inches in overall length, with a thirteen-inch grip and a forty-two-inch blade.
“What the hell, where did he go?” Malcolm asked.
“Where is he?” Roderick asked.
“Shoot him!” Alexander shouted. “Shoot him!”
“Shoot where?” Roderick asked.
Duff picked up a vase and tossed it through the darkness to the opposite side of the room. When it hit the floor, it broke with a great crash.