‘We hate the man.’
‘Show a proper respect for a talented author.’
‘I do that for Edmund Hoode. He truly deserves it.’
‘I agree with you there.’
‘Master Hibbert does not. He bullies us. In any case,’ Dart went on, ‘you should not dare to talk of respect. You showed him little of it yourself when you set about him the other day.’
‘I’ll not deny it,’ said Nicholas. ‘My temper was frayed and I hit out. But that’s all in the past.’
‘Not if he stays. Master Hibbert will never forgive you.’
‘That’s his business.’
‘He wants you out of Westfield’s Men for good.’
‘I mean to remain,’ declared Nicholas.
‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.’
‘Thank you, George. Now get the book so that I can take it home and lock it up securely.’
‘I’ll about it straight.’
Dart raced off and Nicholas smiled. As a result of his success as book holder, there was a spring in Dart’s step and confidence that oozed out of his spare frame. In the course of the afternoon, he had come through a time of trial. Nicholas was glad for him, hoping that it might liberate him from the mockery that was his usual lot. The new-found confidence did not last long, however. When he reappeared minutes later, Dart was the same worried, woebegone, timorous little creature he had always been. Nicholas felt sudden alarm.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s not there. I’ve searched high and low.’
‘Where did you leave it?’
‘On a bench in the corner.’
‘Could one of the actors have taken it?’
‘No,’ said Dart. ‘As soon as the play was over, they rushed off to the taproom. The book was there when we took the stage to pieces. I saw it before I came out to speak to you.’
‘That’s the only complete copy of The Malevolent Comedy,’ said Nicholas. ‘Without it, the play cannot be staged. Think, George. Are you sure that you left it on the bench?’
‘I’d swear to it on the Holy Bible.’
‘Then there’s only one conclusion — it’s been stolen.’
Lawrence Firethorn was in despair. Battered by circumstance and bruised by marital confrontation, he had led his company with less than his accustomed gusto that afternoon. To his utter chagrin he had been compelled to give Saul Hibbert an abject apology then stand there while the author denounced the performance in forthright language and had especial words of censure for Lord Loveless. Reeling from the encounter, all that Firethorn wanted to do was to drink himself into a stupor. Instead, he found Nicholas Bracewell waiting for him at the door to the taproom with bad tidings. The actor was apoplectic.
‘The book was stolen?’ he cried.
‘So it appears,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Are you certain that nobody took it in jest?’
‘This is no jest, Lawrence. Everyone knows how sacrosanct the book of a play is. That’s why I guard it so carefully.’
‘But you were not there this afternoon, Nick. In my folly, I let George Dart take your place. He’s to blame for all this. I’ll crucify him!’
‘George served you well this afternoon,’ said Nicholas, coming to his defence, ‘and worked just as hard after the play was over. He could not watch the book every second. The real fault lies with the thief, not with George.’
‘What am I to do?’ groaned Firethorn, clutching at his hair. ‘I’ve already worn sackcloth and ashes for Saul Hibbert once. Am I to don the robe of shame again?’
‘Send me in your stead.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘I’ll try to reason with our author.’
‘You’d find a charging elephant more inclined to reason. No, Nick,’ said Firethorn, ‘it falls to me to face his ire again. I’ll tell Saul what’s befallen us. Stay here to learn the outcome.’
‘I will,’ said Nicholas. ‘We need a quick decision on the matter.’
Leaving his book holder at the bottom of the staircase, Firethorn ascended the steps again and went along the passageway. He tapped on the door of Hibbert’s but elicited no response. He knocked harder.
‘Go away!’ yelled Hibbert from inside the room.
‘This is Lawrence again.’
‘I don’t care if it’s the King of Mesopotamia — go away!’
‘But I need to speak to you on urgent business.’
‘I’ve urgent business of my own!’ rejoined Hibbert, angrily.
Firethorn heard the rhythmical creaking of the bed and understood what that business might be. He waited until the sound reached its peak then faded slowly away. The actor-manager banged on the door again.
‘I’m still here, Saul,’ he called out.
‘Then you can stay there all night.’
‘I came to warn you that we may not be able to stage your play tomorrow. Or any other day this week, for that matter.’
‘Why not?’
‘When you are ready to listen, I’ll tell you.’
A long pause was followed by the sound of movement. When the door was finally inched open, a sullen Hibbert peered out. But for the shirt he had hurriedly put on, the author was naked.
‘Your timing was poor enough onstage today,’ he said, nastily, ‘but it’s deserted you altogether now. You knew that I was entertaining a lady and should have kept your distance.’
‘This news will brook no delay.’
‘What news?’
‘The book has been stolen.’
‘What book?’
‘The prompt copy of your play,’ explained Firethorn. ‘When George Dart’s back was turned, someone sneaked into the tiring-house and took it. The Malevolent Comedy has vanished.’
‘Damnation!’
‘There may yet be a remedy.’
‘Yes,’ snarled Hibbert. ‘I’ll hire a brace of lawyers to sue you for the wilful loss of my property. This is a disaster.’
‘Do you still have your foul papers?’
‘What?’
‘Your early draught of the play,’ said Firethorn. ‘The one from which the fair copy was made by the scrivener.’
‘No, it was covered in blots and scribbles. I threw it away,’
‘Then we are lost.’
‘What of your own copies?’ asked Hibbert. ‘Sides were written out for the actors. Put them all together and we have a complete play.’
‘Only if we had all kept our roles. Most of us have not. When we commit a part to memory, it stays lodged in the brain. We toss the written record of it away.’
‘That’s idiocy.’
‘It’s practicality. I’ve played thirty-six different roles this season, dozens more in the past. By my troth, if I kept a copy of every part I played, the house would be filled to the rooftops with paper.’
‘Nicholas Bracewell is behind all this,’ said Hibbert, vindictively. ‘I’ll wager that he stole the play in order to get revenge.’
‘He’d never dream of hurting the company in any way.’
‘His quarrel is with me.’
‘Then he’ll settle it in his own way,’ said Firethorn, ‘but not like this. Nick is the only person who can save us from this sorry plight.’
‘I’ll not have him involved.’
‘Then resign yourself to seeing another play at the Queen’s Head tomorrow. And hire as many lawyers as you like,’ he went on. ‘Look to our contract and you’ll find that the book is the legal property of Westfield’s Men. We bought it from you.’
‘I still have moral ownership.’
‘That’s a poor argument in a court of law.’
‘The book must be found forthwith,’ ordered Hibbert. ‘Instead of bickering with me, you should be out looking for it.’
‘And where would you suggest we start?’ asked Firethorn. ‘We’re still trying to find the man who poisoned Hal Bridger then paid for a dog to be unleashed upon us.’
‘I’ll warrant he’s behind this latest crime as well.’
‘A moment ago, you accused Nick Bracewell.’
‘He’ll be gloating over this terrible loss of mine.’
‘You mistake him badly. Nick is more upset than anyone. The book of any play is like a precious jewel to him. He’d defend it with his life.’
‘Pah!’
‘It’s true, Saul,’ said Firethorn. ‘Had he been in his place today, a whole army would not have been able to wrest the prompt book from him. In pushing Nick aside, you took away your play’s protection.’