“Very tidy. You’d be surprised at the size of our bill for tools every month … especially things getting lost. By the way, the box office reported that we’re sold out until closing night. You better get that in the papers tomorrow.”
“Yes sir, but I …”
“You know this may not be such a bad thing … I mean, of course, it’s perfectly awful and God knows where I’m ever going to get a ballerina for next season … but it’s certainly put Eclipse on the map. Everybody will want to see it from here to San Francisco, a real draw.” At this moment, I found Mr. Washburn a trifle materialistic, even for an old-fashioned opportunist like me.
“Maybe Eglanova will go with the company again next year,” I suggested, forgetting my own peril for a brief moment.
“But she wants to retire and we should let her,” said Mr. Washburn, starting in on The World-Telegram and Sun; he made Eglanova’s retirement sound like her choice rather than his.
“I hear Markova is tied up with her new company.”
“True … she’s too expensive anyway.”
“And so are Toumanova, Alonso, Danilova and Tallchief,” said I, repeating what Jane had told me the night before.
“Editorial in the Telegram,” said Mr. Washburn gravely. “They want to know if Wilbur is a Communist.”
“I had forgotten all about that,” I said truthfully.
“Well, I haven’t. The Veterans Committee telephoned to say that their pickets would be back tonight and that they would have new placards, calling us the Murder Company as well as the Red Company.”
“That’s a laugh!”
“I am not sure on whom, though,” said Mr. Washburn, studying the Post which had by far the best and sexiest pictures of Sutton, and no mention of the Red menace.
“Is Wilbur worried?”
“He seems to be. I’m supposed to have a talk with him this afternoon. Well, that’s that,” he said, handing the papers to me.
Outside the stage door a policeman in plain clothes lounged; he looked at us suspiciously as we entered.
“An armed camp!” exclaimed my employer with more gusto than I for one thought proper under the circumstances; our roles were reversed now: I was the one bothered by the publicity and investigation while he was the one who was meditating happily on free promotion and the coming tour with the customers flocking to see the “murder” ballet.
“By the way,” I said, “who’s going to dance the lead in Eclipse tonight … you have it scheduled, you know, and I should get a release out for the morning papers.”
“Good God! Where’s Wilbur?” The stage manager, hearing this, went to find the beleaguered choreographer.
“How would this Jane Garden do? I’m told she’s very fine,” I said, getting in a plug for the home team.
“It’s up to him … after all we’ve got three soloists.”
“I think she’d be great in it.” Then, changing from my youthful, eager manner to that somewhat more austere manner which is more nearly me, I said, “About those shears that I found in Eglanova’s room.”
“What about them?” We went through the whole thing again and, for the second time in five minutes, he was upset.
“What I want to know is should I tell the police right now that I found the shears in her room and put them outside on the tool chest, or should I wait until the Inspector arrests me for murder, after finding my prints all over The Murder Weapon.”
Mr. Washburn looked exactly like a man being goosed by the cold horns of the biggest, roughest dilemma this side of the Bronx Zoo. Needless to say, between sacrificing his star and his temporary press agent, he chose yours truly, as I suspected he would, to be offered up as a possible sacrifice to Miss Justice, that blind girl with the sword. “You can do something for me, Peter,” he said, in the cozy voice of an impresario talking to a millionaire.
“Anything, sir,” I said, very sincerely, looking at him with honest cocker spaniel eyes … little did he suspect that I was contemplating blackmail, that my mean little mind had seized upon a brilliant idea which would, if it worked, make me very happy indeed and if it didn’t … well, I could always take a lie-detector test or something to prove that I hadn’t eased Ella Sutton into a better and lovelier world.
“Say nothing about this, Son. Not until the season is over … just a week away. That’s all I ask. I’m sure they won’t go after you … absolutely sure. You have no motive. You didn’t even know Sutton. On top of that … well, I have a little influence in this town, as you know. Believe me when I say there won’t be any trouble.”
“If you say so, Mr. Washburn, then I won’t tell the police.” I then asked that Jane Garden be given the lead in Eclipse (she was understudy anyway), and she got it. Perfidy had paid off.
“I suppose she’ll be all right,” said Wilbur a few minutes later when he’d been advised of this casting. “She’s up in the part at least. I’d much rather have a dark-haired girl, but …”
“Garden should be very good,” said Mr. Washburn. “You’d better rehearse her and Louis this afternoon.”
“I’ll go telephone her,” I said, and I did. At first, she didn’t believe it but then, when she did, she was beside herself and I knew we were going to have a pleasant time … champagne in bed, I decided, as I hung up.
My second official interview with the Inspector went off well enough.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Where were you born?”
“Hartford, Connecticut.”
“In the service?”
“Three and a half years … Pacific Theater of Operations … Army.”
“What sort of work did you do upon discharge?”
“Went back to college … finished at Harvard.”
“Harvard?”
“Yes, Harvard.” We glared at one another.
“What sort of work after that?”
“I was assistant drama critic on the Globe until a year ago when I opened my own office … public relations.”
“I see. How long have you known, did you know, the deceased?”
“Who?”
“Miss Sutton … who do you think I meant? Mayor La Guardia.”
“I’m sorry if I misunderstood you, Mr. Gleason.” Oh, I was in splendid form, putting my head right into the noose, but what the hell … tonight there’d be champagne. “I met Miss Sutton the day I came to work for the ballet … yesterday afternoon.”
“As what?”
“As special public relations consultant … that’s what it says on that paper in front of you.”
“Are you trying to get funny with me?”
“Certainly not.” I looked offended.
“How well did you know the … Miss Sutton?”
“I met her yesterday.”
“You never saw her outside of work then?”
“Not very often.”
“How often?”
“Never, then.”
“Well, which is it, never or occasionally?”
“Never, I guess, to speak of … maybe now and then at a party before I’d met her … that’s all I meant.”
“It would help if you say what you mean the first time.”
“I’ll try.”
“Did she have any enemies that you know of?”
“Well, yes and no.”
“Yes or no, please, Mr. Sargeant.”
“No … not that I know of. On the other hand, I gather that nobody liked her.”
“And why was that?”
“I’m told she wasn’t very easy to work with and she was unpleasant to the kids in the company, especially the girls. She was set to be the big star when Eglanova retired.”