He paused as heavy hammering reverberated throughout the building. Two carpenters passed at the end of an aisle, carrying heavy planks of timber. We were evidently in the scenery store, for huge canvas flats bearing the representations of Palladian temples, Arcadian scenery and skyscapes were stacked against massive wooden partitions. Pons put his hand against my arm as we moved down softly, and asked for caution with a finger against his lips.
There were approaching voices in the distant hum of conversation and cacophony of hammering.
"I tell you I have had enough of it, Hardcastle!"
The voice was a man's, strained by anger; not only anger but positive hatred.
"You must not allow yourself to become swayed by malicious gossip, Setton."
The second voice was obviously Hardcastle's; placatory, but at the same time with a hard undertone of annoyance and anger. There was a heavy crash from the other side of the flats as though the first man had stamped his foot.
"Rumor or not, it has got to stop. This is my last warning. I am not a violent man but I will do something desperate if you meddle further in our lives."
There was a sneer in Hardcastle's voice as he replied.
"What would you do, Setton? I could break you in half like a rotten stick if I chose!"
"There are ways other than physical violence. Just remember what I have said. Leave Dolly alone!"
There was the rapid, staccato beat of footsteps and Pons and I drew back into the shadow. I just had time to glimpse a short, thin man with a black moustache pass the end of the aisle.
A door slammed behind him and there was a brief silence apart from the distant clamor. Then there came the unmistakable rasp of a match-head being struck. Flame glowed against the end of the passageway. Hardcastle drew on his cigar; the fragrant, aromatic odor reached my nostrils a few seconds later. Then his heavy footsteps followed his companion and died out.
"Well, well," said Pons after a short interval. "The case grows in interest."
"You have no shortage of suspects," I said. "I thought I recognized the gentleman."
"It was Setton Richmond, the musical comedy star. As you know, he is married to Dolly Richmond and from what we heard by the lake in Hardcastle's park he has good cause for jealousy."
He pulled at the lobe of his ear with thin fingers, his face a brooding mask of thought.
"There is little further we can do here, my dear fellow. I think a brisk walk back to Praed Street followed by one of Mrs. Johnson's inimitable high teas will do the trick. I find that a full stomach works wonders in assisting the ratiocinative process."
5
The orchestra burst into a deafening crescendo as the overture began. I focused my eyes on the footlights of the stage as they slowly increased in intensity. Pons stirred at my side, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
"There is nothing like the final full-dress rehearsal to give the proper atmosphere."
"Indeed."
"You see that stage box up there?"
I looked up in the direction he indicated.
"The one on the right?"
"That is the one. I wish you to go there and keep a careful watch on the stage throughout the performance, if you would be so good."
I glanced at Pons and my puzzlement must have shown on my face.
"But what am Ito look out for?"
Solar Pons smiled his curious smile.
"Be particularly alert at the finale."
"The strangling scene. I see. You wish to pinpoint the vulnerable moments at which this mysterious killer might strike at the opening on Wednesday?"
"Something like that. Also keep an eye on the other boxes and if you see anything suspicious do not hesitate to shout out or cause a distraction."
I stared at my companion in amazement.
"You think this creature might be here this evening?"
"It is entirely possible, Parker. You forget that he would need to know this particular theatre, just as I myself have had to learn its layout during the past few weeks."
"I see."
Solar Pons rose and stretched himself, looking round the half-empty auditorium, which contained a sprinkling of relatives and friends of the artists, together with technical personnel and members of the national press. So far as I could make out all the boxes were empty.
There was an extremely serious expression on my friend's face.
"You have your revolver?"
I nodded.
"Certainly. You insisted on it and I have carried it whenever I have managed to get along to the theatre for these rehearsals."
Solar Pons smiled and rested his hand lightly on my shoulder.
"You have been a tower of strength, as always, Parker. I am most grateful to you."
This was high praise indeed and I mumbled something deprecating in reply.
"What will you be doing in the meantime?"
"I shall be about, Parker. I have a few small things to do backstage yet. But it is imperative that you keep alert."
"I shall certainly do that, Pons."
I left my friend in the shadowy aisle as the overture came to a close and made my way to the box indicated. It was eerie in the half-light as I stumbled up the plush stairs and when I took my place in the box, the rectangle of the curtained stage below seemed brilliant in contrast.
I took my seat on one of the comfortable upholstered chairs at the edge of the box and waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. I did not think any danger might come from those in the main auditorium; it was altogether too public and anyone behaving suspiciously would immediately be noticed by his neighbor. The cavernous darkness of the remainder of the vast theatre was another thing altogether. The boxes stretched for tier after tier to the ceiling.
Pons had ruled out the balcony as being too far from the stage to constitute a danger and in any event I soon saw this evening that there was a sprinkling of journalists and photographers spread along the front rows. I decided to concentrate on the stage boxes immediately below me and on those on the left hand side of the proscenium. I had no doubt Pons was keeping watch backstage.
Naturally, I would watch the progress of the play itself as it unfolded before me but the difficulty was going to be to avoid getting involved in the story and forgetting to watch the surroundings. I determined to remain alert and not to let Pons down, just in case there might be something suspicious taking place this evening.
The curtain was rising on the drawing room scene and the brilliance of the lighting, the opulence of the decor and the richness of the decorations brought a polite smattering of applause from the friends and relatives who had been invited to this preview.
Several of the leading players were making their entrances and I marveled at the metamorphosis of these somewhat dowdy individuals of the ordinary rehearsals, now transformed by rich costuming and makeup into these colorful, larger-than-life characters who went through their dramatic paces so smoothly and effortlessly.
Only I now knew what a great deal of hard work underlay this perfection and I listened to the dialogue with more than ordinary interest and watched the gyrations of these puppets as though the entire play were something new to me. But so insidious was this spell that I guiltily withdrew my gaze from the lighted rectangle with a jerk, suddenly aware that over seven minutes had passed since curtain-up.
I glanced round the hushed auditorium but all seemed normal. The orchestra leader was in the pit, the mood music from the fifteen or so musicians delicately underlining the events being played out before us. From the additional light emanating from the stage I could see the faded gilt and plush of the other boxes. I studied over them cautiously. They were all completely empty. I had borrowed a pair of opera glasses. from Ayres, the business manager, and when I had adjusted the eyepieces I examined the boxes, the stage and its surroundings in greater detail.