Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 6: Opening Night, Spinsters in Jeopardy, Scales of Justice

Dr Rutherford groaned loudly.

‘I failed him,’ Gay announced. ‘I was a bitter, bitter disappointment to him. I dare say I turned the scale.’

‘Now in the name of all the gods at once,’ Dr Rutherford began and was brought to a stop by the entry of Clem Smith.

Clem looked uneasily at Helena Hamilton and said: ‘They’re in the dressing-room. He says they won’t keep you waiting much longer.’

‘It’s all right, then?’ Parry Percival blurted out and added in a flurry: ‘I mean there won’t be a whole lot of formalities. I mean we’ll be able to get away. I mean –’

‘I’ve no idea about that,’ Clem said. ‘Alleyn just said they’d be here soon.’ He had brought a cup of soup with him and he withdrew into a corner and began to drink it. The others watched him anxiously but said nothing.

‘What did he ask you about?’ Jacko demanded suddenly.

‘About what we did at the time.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, yes. He – well in point of fact, he seemed to be interested in the alterations to the theatre.’

‘To the dressing-rooms in particular?’ Poole asked quickly.

‘Yes,’ Clem said unhappily. ‘To them.’

There was a long silence broken by Jacko.

‘I find nothing remarkable in this,’ he said. ‘Ella has shown us the way with great courage and Adam has spoken his mind. Let us all speak ours. I may resemble an ostrich but I do not propose to imitate its behaviour. Of what do we all think? There is the unpleasing little circumstance of the Jupiter case and we think of that. When Gay mentions it she does so with the air of one who opens a closet and out tumbles a skeleton. But why? It is inevitable that these gentlemen, who also remember the Jupiter case, should wish to inspect the dressing-rooms. They wish, in fact, to make very sure indeed that this is a case of suicide and not of murder. And since we are all quite certain that it is suicide we should not disturb ourselves that they do their duty.’

‘Exactly,’Poole said.

‘It’s going,’ Darcey muttered, ‘to be damn bad publicity.’

‘Merciful Heavens!’ Parry Percival exclaimed. ‘The Publicity! None of us thought of that!’

‘Did we not?’ said Poole.

‘I must say,’ Parry complained, ‘I would like to know what’s going to happen, Adam. I mean – darling Ella, I know you’ll understand – but I mean, about the piece. Do we go on? Or what?’

‘Yes,’ Helena said. ‘We go on. Please, Adam.’

‘Ella, I’ve got to think. There are so many –’

‘We go on. Indeed, indeed we do.’

Martyn felt rather than saw the sense of relief in Darcey and Percival.

Darcey said, ‘I’m the understudy, Lord help me,’ and Percival made a tiny ambiguous sound that might have been one of satisfaction or of chagrin.

‘How are you for it, J.G.?’ Helena asked.

‘I know it,’ he said heavily.

‘I’ll work whenever you like. We’ve got the weekend.’

‘Thank you, Ella.’

‘Your own understudy’s all right,’ said Clem.

‘Good.’

It was clear to Martyn that this retreat into professionalism was a great relief to them and it was clear also that Poole didn’t share in their comfort. Watching him, she was reminded of his portrait in the greenroom: he looked withdrawn and troubled.

A lively and almost cosy discussion about recasting had developed. Clem Smith, Jacko and Percival were all talking at once when, with her infallible talent for scenes, Gay exclaimed passionately:

‘I can’t bear it! I think you’re all awful!’

They broke off. Having collected their attention she built rapidly to her climax. ‘To sit round and talk about the show as if nothing had happened! How you can! When beyond those doors, he’s lying there forgotten. Cold and forgotten! It’s the most brutal thing I’ve ever heard of and if you think I’m coming near this horrible, fated, haunted place again, I’m telling you, here and now, that wild horses wouldn’t drag me inside the theatre once I’m away from it. I suppose someone will find time to tell me when the funeral is going to be. I happen to be just about his only relation.’

They all began to expostulate at once but she topped their lines with the determination of a robust star. ‘You needn’t bother to explain,’ she shouted. ‘I understand only too well, thank you.’ She caught sight of Martyn and pointed wildly at her. ‘You’ve angled for this miserable part, and now you’ve got it. I think it’s extremely likely you’re responsible for what’s happened.’

Poole said: ‘You’ll stop at once, Gay. Stop.’

‘I won’t! I won’t be gagged! It drove my Uncle Ben to despair and I don’t care who knows it.’

It was upon this line that Alleyn, as if he had mastered one of the major points of stage technique, made his entrance up-stage and centre.

V

Although he must have heard every word of Gay’s final outburst, Alleyn gave no sign of having done so.

‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the first thing I have to say to you all won’t be very pleasant news. We don’t look like getting through with our side of this unhappy business as quickly as I hoped. I know you are all desperately tired and very shocked and I’m sorry. But the general circumstances aren’t quite as straightforward as, on the face of it, you have probably supposed them to be.’

A trickle of ice moved under Martyn’s diaphragm. She thought: ‘No, it’s not fair. I can’t be made to have two goes of the jim-jams in one night.’

Alleyn addressed himself specifically to Helena Hamilton.

‘You’ll have guessed – of course you will – that one can’t overlook the other case of gas-poisoning that is associated with this theatre. It must have jumped to everybody’s mind, almost at once.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘We’ve been talking about it.’

The men looked uneasily at her but Alleyn said at once: ‘I’m sure you have. So have we. And I expect you’ve wondered, as we have, if the memory of that former case could have influenced your husband.’

‘I’m certain it did,’ she said quickly. ‘We all are.’

The others made small affirmative noises. Only Dr Rutherford was silent. Martyn saw with amazement that his chin had sunk on his rhythmically heaving bosom, his eyes were shut and his lips pursed in the manner of a sleeper who is just not snoring. He was at the back of the group and, she hoped, concealed from Alleyn.

‘Have you,’ Alleyn asked, ‘any specific argument to support this theory?’

‘No specific reason. But I know he thought a lot of that other dreadful business. He didn’t like this theatre. Mr Alleyn, actors are sensitive to atmosphere. We talk a lot about the theatres we play in and we get very vivid – you would probably think absurdly vivid – impressions of their “personalities”. My husband felt there was a – an unpleasant atmosphere in this place. He often said so. In a way I think it had a rather horrible fascination for him. We’d a sort of tacit understanding in the Vulcan that its past history wouldn’t be discussed among us but I know he did talk about it. Not to us but to people who had been concerned in the other affair.’