“Well, that was a turn-up for the book,” said Jonathan, when he had settled his wife and Dame Beatrice in the car. “The coroner hadn’t bargained for an adjournment. Did you tip the police any winks, Aunt Adela?”
“No. The evidence we heard spoke for itself, I thought.”
“You mean that cuckoo in the nest, the extra dagger. Of course, Lynn may have been lying when he said it wasn’t one of his. I’ll tell you what, though: that dagger was so much like the theatrical one to look at that I wish I could have picked up the pair of them to compare the respective weights.”
“It wouldn’t really help,” said Deborah. “Donald would not have known the difference since, until he had to act as Rinkley’s understudy, he had never handled either dagger. He had a sword when he was Oberon. Marcus was most particular that nobody should handle the props except the people who actually used them and, once he had locked them away each time, nobody could fool about with them because he had the only key to the cupboard. The only people who could have got at them by picking the lock were Jon and myself and, of course, we wouldn’t dream of doing anything so frightful.”
“Even if you had dreamed of doing it, I don’t believe you know how,” said Dame Beatrice. “Do you know how, Jonathan?”
“Every schoolboy knows how. But another thought has been on my mind. I haven’t mentioned it to you, but, as it happens, I could have been Rinkley’s stand-in instead of poor Bourton. When the question of understudies came up fairly early on in the rehearsal periods, it was suggested that we should leave the final court scene to Yorke, his missus, Tom Woolidge, Emma Lynn and Barbara Bourton, and that I should double up as Pyramus if necessary, leaving my one or two speeches as Demetrius for Tom to make. I believe we told you about that. My looks were thought unsuitable for farce.”
“It was so obvious that it would be better to cut the last fairy scene and leave what had to be said to young Peter Woolidge as Puck. Oberon was to take on Pyramus instead of you, leaving you in your original part,” said Deborah.
“And did the whole cast know that this was the final arrangement?” asked Dame Beatrice.
“No reason why they shouldn’t have known,” replied Jonathan. “There was no secret about it.”
“The change was decided upon at our little cocktail party,” said Deborah, “and I don’t think anybody bothered about it, or even remembered it until Rinkley was taken ill on the third night. After all, Rinkley was the last person we expected would give up his part. He was dead keen on it, especially the Pyramus bit. It was very bad luck on him to have to fall by the wayside and miss all the applause.”
“You interest me,” said Dame Beatrice. “Supposing the producer had kept to the first arrangement, do you think, Jonathan, that, as Pyramus, you would have known you had the wrong dagger?”
“Can’t be sure. I did handle the retractable one when it was produced for rehearsals, but I expect I would have taken the props for granted, just as poor Bourton seems to have done.”
“All the same,” said Deborah, “it would be interesting to know whether that dangerous dagger was already in the belt when Donald put it on, or whether he found the pocket was empty, spotted an extra dagger on the table and took it, thinking it was the one with the retractable blade and had got itself disassociated from its belt. I think I agree with the police that there will have to be more enquiries.”
“Bad luck on us, then. They may be crawling all over the house and grounds for days,” said Jonathan.
“When do you expect Simon and Penelope back?” asked Dame Beatrice.
“Oh, in about a fortnight, I suppose.”
“Well, Laura and I are perfectly willing to keep the children with us. You will be glad to have them out of the way of the police. Perhaps you would prefer my company?”
Deborah picked up Dame Beatrice’s yellow hand and pressed it gratefully.
“You’ll be a tower of strength against the police,” she said.
“We shall have the reporters, too! We’ve had quite a bucketful of those lads already, and now that the inquest has been adjourned, with all the sinister overtones caused by that sensational proceeding, they’ll be round us like flies round a honey-pot,” said Jonathan.
“Yes, I’m afraid they will,” Dame Beatrice agreed. “It was indeed a sensational ending to what, at first glance, seemed a straightforward case of accidental death.”
“Whereas now, in spite of Barbara Bourton’s declaration, suicide seems more likely,” said Jonathan. “After all, Barbara can’t know all that much about Bourton’s private affairs. They don’t seem to have cohabited all that often owing to her stage career and, I suppose, his business interests.”
“One thing has been mentioned,” said Deborah, “so it can be mentioned again. I suppose one of his clients didn’t hit on a way of getting rid of him so as to avoid paying racing debts?”
“There are other kinds of debts,” said Dame Beatrice. Deborah nodded.
“Such as those owed by cuckolded husbands, I suppose,” she said. “Yes, Donald was a dashing lad, in his way, and somebody may have taken exception to that fact.”
“But surely not to the point of murdering him,” said Jonathan.
Chapter 10
Further Suggestions
“What, a play toward! I’ll be an auditor.”
« ^ »
Jonathan changed the subject.
“You mean,” he said to his aunt, “you do mean you can stay on for a day or two and see us through?”
“And leave poor Laura the responsibility for Rosamund and Edmund,” said Deborah. “How thankful I am, though,” she added. “I hate the thought of coping with more police questioning. They must suspect something is wrong with Donald’s death, or they would never have asked to have the inquest adjourned. Obviously that wasn’t on the agenda.”
“I think the police will be busy finding out where the extra dagger came from. I doubt whether they will trouble you very much. Their main targets, so far as the cast of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is concerned, will be Mr Yorke and the Lynns. Nobody else seems to have had access to the properties until they were laid out in the wings ready for the actors and, from what I have gathered, it would have been almost impossible for one dagger to have been exchanged for another without somebody witnessing the substitution,” said Dame Beatrice.
“While the death was regarded as accidental I don’t suppose people charged their memories about anything they may have noticed,” said Jonathan, “but, once the reporters get busy about the adjournment, maybe somebody will remember something which was not in the least questionable at the time, but may bear considerable significance now.”
“The local papers are bound to go to town in a big way,” said Deborah. “I bet they haven’t had a story like this for years. I almost wish I were a reporter. How I could spread myself on the romantic setting, the perfect summer night, the delightful comedy complete with fairy lore—and then the sudden change, bizarre and terrifying, to tragedy and dire confusion.”
“There wasn’t dire confusion,” said Jonathan. “Dr Jeanne-Marie and Marcus Lynn between them saw to that.”
“Well, anyway, the reporters will make hay. I dread them much more than I dread the police.”
“If I were you,” said Dame Beatrice, “I would go out for the day and leave me to cope.”
“Won’t they think that fishy?”
“Why should they? So far as you two are concerned the death was the result of a completely unforeseen accident.”
“No,” said Jonathan, “we’ll stay. If we try to dodge them today, they will only come back tomorrow. Well are they called newshounds. Once on the trail they never give up, and the more I think about it the more it seems to me that they could be following a very hot scent indeed.”