“Why—it sounds as if someone had planned it!” There was awe in Pauline’s breathless voice.
“It does rather.” Basil held Rod’s eyes with his own. “Do you really mean it when you say Wanda seemed almost bored when you were alone with her? Think carefully, for it’s important. Didn’t she ever show any sign of personal interest in you, however subtle?”
“By ‘personal’ I suppose you mean ‘erotic’? No, she didn’t. And—well, it’s silly, but though I didn’t like her I was human enough to feel a little piqued about the whole thing. It is rather insulting to have a woman always seeking your company and yet remaining entirely impervious to your existence as a man. I’d got so I almost hated Wanda and then—this happened.”
“Hell knows no fury like a man scorned,” murmured Pauline, but there was no malice in her voice.
“Possibly Wanda felt she was the woman scorned?” ventured Basil. “You weren’t very responsive, were you?”
“There was nothing to respond to! So she couldn’t have felt that way.”
Pauline’s eyes were dancing. “Basil, you are interested. I can see you are! You will help us, won’t you? There’s nobody else who can. If somebody did plan all this, you’re the one to find out who and why. It might be Wanda herself. Suppose she knew this was going to happen to Vladimir? Suppose she chased Rod all these weeks just so suspicion would fall on him when it did happen? It was she who wanted to play Fedora in the first place. It was she who got Milhau to give Rod the part of the surgeon who carries a knife on stage. And I’m sure Vladimir was not a stranger to her. I’m sure he was the friend she invited to play Vladimir, even if she did deny it afterward.”
“In other words, you believe that Wanda murdered Vladimir herself?” asked Basil. “And planned the details of the crime to throw suspicion on Rod?”
“Isn’t it pretty obvious?” retorted Pauline. “Milhau had no reason to lie about knowing Vladimir. He isn’t a suspect—he wasn’t even on stage during the murder. Milhau must’ve been speaking the truth, and that means Wanda must have been lying. Vladimir must have been someone she had got to play the part, just as Milhau said. That means Vladimir was someone Wanda knew—perhaps someone she loved. There’s nothing to suggest that anyone else on stage ever saw him before, so Wanda must be the one who killed him.”
Rod was tilting the sugar bowl back and forth as if he needed some occupation for his hands. Basil didn’t wonder that he was embarrassed—the position of a man pursued by a woman he doesn’t like is hardly a graceful one.
“When did you first meet Wanda?” asked Basil.
“A year ago. In Chicago.”
“How did it happen?”
“Wanda had taken one of her New York successes, a Guitry play, out there. Leonard Martin was playing opposite her when he fell ill suddenly. They had to get someone else in a hurry. I was in Chicago with a road company that had just been stranded. I applied to Milhau for Leonard’s part and got it—largely because no one else was available. Wanda coached me herself, and I did fairly well.”
“You made a smash hit!” interpolated Pauline.
Rod smiled at her enthusiasm. “It was pure luck; the part happened to suit me, and Wanda’s coaching was a big help. Overnight I jumped from playing small parts in road companies to the male lead in a company fresh from Broadway. I was grateful, but I didn’t fall for her. That’s what made things so hard when she started behaving as if she’d fallen for me.”
“You’re not just being chivalrous when you say she didn’t care for you?” inquired Basil.
“No, that’s the truth. I’m never chivalrous.”
“Indeed you aren’t!” put in Pauline.
“And you’ve remained with the company ever since?” went on Basil.
“By the time we reached San Francisco, Sam Milhau put me under contract to play the lead in Fedora on Broadway this autumn.” Some lumps of sugar fell out of the bowl. Rod’s restless fingers arranged them in rows like dominoes.
“But Dr. Lorek is not the male lead in Fedora,” objected Basil.
“No,” agreed Rod, without looking up from the sugar lumps. “The big male part is Loris Ipanov; but he doesn’t come on until the second act so I played Lorek in the first. Milhau’s a thrifty producer, and as I’m just a beginner—glad of the chance—I couldn’t very well refuse to double in both parts. Lorek was a bad role for me, but Loris Ipanov might have been the making of me. Now—” He shrugged. “This murder may push me right back to where I was when I started a year ago.”
“When did Leonard Martin rejoin the company?”
Rod’s wall of sugar lumps toppled, and he began piling them up again. “Milhau was still casting Fedora when Leon turned up in New York a few weeks ago, quite recovered and raring to go. Of course, he wanted to play Loris Ipanov. He’s been Wanda’s leading man in lots of plays. But Milhau had already signed me for Ipanov, and most of the other good parts like Siriex were already cast. The best Milhau could do was to give Leon the part of Grech. He was game enough to take it and make a good job of it. He deserved a better break. He doesn’t just mug like the rest of us; he really acts.”
“You don’t mug!” protested Pauline. “You’re good! Really good!”
“You think so?” Rod eyed her with pleasure. For a moment they both seemed to forget Basil.
“Have you told the police about this gossip linking you to Wanda?” inquired Basil.
“N-no.” Rod frowned.
“You think we should?” cried Pauline.
“They’re sure to find out. They always check on the personal history of everyone involved in a case. They may miss some of the subtleties; but they never miss a matter of general knowledge, and anything concealed makes them suspicious. You’d better forestall them by letting all the skeletons out of the cupboard now before the bones begin to rattle.”
“But what is there to tell them?” Rod had the grace to flush. “I can’t say: See here, Inspector, Wanda Morley was always chasing me, but I didn’t care a hoot about her, and I’m sure she didn’t care a hoot about me. So if you hear any gossip, it’s just smoke without fire. That isn’t the sort of thing you can say to anybody, least of all a policeman. He’d never believe it, would he?”
“I see your point.” Basil smiled. “The police might agree with Pauline: Hell knows no fury like a man scorned—especially when he has a chance to stab a successful rival on the stage.”
“Basil!” cried Pauline. “Don’t say such things—even in fun!”
“Pauline, dear,” said Rod, gently. “He’s only anticipating what the police will say.”
“I know what to do!” Pauline turned to Rod. “We’ll tell the police you’re engaged to me!”
“But I’m not—”
“You can be—if you want to.”
Rod shook his head. “You know I won’t drag you into this!”
“Why on earth not?”
“Because.” Rod pushed his sugar lumps into a star pattern. “Just think what fun the more scurrilous tabloids would have with all three of us if we told the truth.”
“Three of us?”
“You and I and Wanda—the good old triangle.”
“You forget Vladimir,” put in Basil. “That would make it a quadrangle.”
“I don’t care! If there’s any question of your being accused of murder I’m going to say you’re still engaged to me! Then they couldn’t say that you were jealous of Wanda’s affair with Vladimir—if there was one.”