“But not as good as yours,” countered Mary Anne loyally.
“I only had amateur actors. These are real professionals.”
“I still preferred your version, Cyrus.”
“Thanks, honey.”
As they came into the lobby, a young man bore down on them.
“Professor and Mrs. Hillier?” he asked.
“That’s us,” admitted Cyrus.
“Anthony Walker,” said the other, offering his hand. “I believe that you’ve met my sister, Rosalind.”
“We have indeed, young sir.”
Handshakes were exchanged, then they moved to a corner where they could discuss the play. Anthony explained that his sister had rushed off to the ladies’ cloakroom before the general invasion. He shared their enthusiasm for the production though he had severe doubts about the play itself.
“Not the jolliest piece that Shakespeare wrote, is it?”
“It does have its comic moments,” argued Cyrus. “There was a lot of humor in that scene with Ajax and Thersites.”
“But it’s still a rather pessimistic play.”
“Pessimistic or realistic?”
“Ah, well,” said Tony with a grin. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“Wait until you’ve seen the whole play.”
“I will, Professor.”
Rosalind soon joined them and they had an amicable debate about the theatre itself, all agreeing that it had its shortcomings. It seemed only minutes before the warning bell sounded to mark the end of the interval. Rosalind was saddened.
“We’ll have to say goodbye now,” she said, “because Tony and I have to dash off the moment the performance is over.”
“I thought you were staying at a hotel,” said Mary Anne.
“We usually do and we’d have loved to have stayed on so that we could watch The Merchant of Venice this evening. But we have to be on the Shakespeare Express at five-thirty.”
“What a pity!”
“Needs must when the devil drives,” said Tony, shaking their hands in turn once more. “But it was a delight to meet you both and I hope that you enjoy the rest of your stay in England.”
“Thank you,” said Mary Anne. “And goodbye.”
After a flurry of farewells, they went into the auditorium. Cyrus and Mary Anne took their seats in the front stalls. Her mind was still on the two friends they had made.
“It’s such a shame they have to leave when the play is over,” she said. “It would have been nice to have a drink with them afterwards.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Perhaps not.”
They were soon lost in the second half of the production. It was an exhilarating experience and gave them plenty to discuss when they returned to their hotel afterwards. The evening performance of The Merchant of Venice was equally satisfying, though Cyrus felt that the play was inferior to the one they had watched that afternoon. During the stroll back to the Shakespeare Hotel, he explained why. Mary Anne was, as ever, an attentive listener. Cyrus had hoped to continue the conversation over supper, but as soon as they entered the hotel they were intercepted. A stocky man in his forties introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Cyril Rushton and, after showing them his warrant card, asked if he might have a word with them. Mary Anne was patently discomfited.
“We haven’t done anything wrong, have we?” she asked.
“Not at all, Mrs. Hillier,” said Rushton. “I just need your help.” He glanced around. “Is there somewhere private where we can speak?”
“Our room might be the best place,” said Cyrus.
“Lead the way, sir.”
Mary Anne was upset at being accosted by a detective, but Cyrus seemed to be completely unperturbed. It was almost as if he had been expecting it. When they got to the room, he sat on the edge of the bed while the others occupied the two chairs. Rushton produced a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flicked through the pages until he found the one he wanted.
“I believe that you know a Miss Rosalind Walker,” he began. “It was she who told me where I could find you both. I understand that you met the lady this morning.”
“Yes,” said Mary Anne. “It was at Paddington Station.”
“And you traveled on the train to Stratford with her?”
“We did, Sergeant Rushton. The Shakespeare Express.”
“Did you share the same carriage?”
“No, she was in another carriage with her brother, Anthony.”
“That’s what she claims.”
“It’s exactly what happened, Sergeant.”
“Not necessarily,” said Cyrus.
“What do you mean?”
“Let the sergeant finish, Mary Anne.”
“But you were there, Cyrus. You saw them get on the train.”
“Miss Walker also claims that she and her brother attended a matinée performance of Troilus and Cressida,” said Rushton, referring to his notebook. “Can you confirm that?”
“Yes,” said Mary Anne.
“No,” added her husband.
“Cyrus, don’t be silly,” she chided. “We met them.”
“We talked to them in the lobby, yes. But that doesn’t mean they actually watched the performance.”
“Of course they did. They came into the auditorium with us.”
“But did they stay?-that’s the question.”
“Ignore my husband,” she said with a touch of irritation. “He’s had a lapse of memory. I can vouch for them. Rosalind and Anthony Walker saw that play this afternoon.” She looked at Cyrus. “How can you possibly deny it?”
“Because I don’t like being used, Mary Anne.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The sergeant will explain.”
Rushton took his cue. “At approximately eleven o’clock this morning,” he told them, “a jewelry shop in Banbury was robbed. The manager was injured in the process. The thief-a young man answering the description of Anthony Walker-got away with a substantial amount of jewelry.”
“It couldn’t possibly have been him, Sergeant,” said Mary Anne defensively. “He was on the train and it doesn’t even stop at Banbury.”
“Yes, it does,” observed Cyrus.
“It’s not a proper scheduled stop,” continued the detective. “They slip a carriage at the station, that’s all. No passengers are allowed to join the train.”
“But they could leave it.”
“They could indeed, Professor Hillier. You stopped at Banbury at ten forty-one. That fits in with the timing of the robbery.”
“Did anyone see Anthony Walker leaving the train?” asked Mary Anne, refusing to believe that he could be implicated in a crime. “Well, did they?”
“No, Mrs. Hillier.”
“There you are, then.”
“You don’t understand, Mary Anne,” said her husband gently. “Rosalind’s brother could not leave the train because he was never on it in the first place.”
“Yes, he was. You saw them get on together.”
“I saw her get into the train with a young man but there’s no guarantee that it was Anthony. Apart from anything else, he lifted his hat to her when they met. Is that the kind of greeting you’d expect from a brother?” He looked at Rushton. “My guess is that it was Rosalind who got off at Banbury.”
“Quite right, sir,” said Rushton. “The stationmaster confirms it.”
“I begin to see why she never mentioned that stop to us. She told us everything else about the Shakespeare Express.”
Mary Anne was baffled. “What’s going on?” she wondered.
“We were tricked into providing an alibi.”
“I don’t understand. All that we did was talk to her. In any case,” she went on, “how can Rosalind possibly be involved in the crime? The sergeant said that it was committed by a young man.”
“We’ve reason to believe that she was at the wheel of the car that was waiting outside the jewelry shop,” said Rushton seriously. “We have a number of witnesses who saw it being driven away at speed by a woman.”