I turned to him and looked at the worldly face surmounted by the greying hair so close to mine.
“Would you care to enlarge on that, Mr Ayres?”
The business manager shrugged.
“I’ve told Cedric about it, often enough. There’s women… and their husbands. It’s always trouble in the theatre.”
He made an expressive gesture with his hand as though he were cutting his own throat which I felt somewhat lacking in taste.
“Perhaps,” I said cautiously. “But these situations obtain in many other walks of life.”
Ayres nodded grimly.
“Correct, doctor. But you do not know theatricals. If I told you a quarter of what I have seen in my time in the theatre you would be astonished. Jealousy and yet more jealousy! It all passes belief.”
I hesitated and then gave utterance to my thoughts.
“You suspect someone specific?”
The business manager gave a crooked wink.
“It would not be fair to say. But you can take it from me there is a wide choice of both sexes.”
My attention was dramatically drawn back to the stage at this point by some extraordinary noises; the lights were down and the stage bathed in that mysterious half-light which one gets only in the theatre. A monstrous shadow from the French windows had enveloped Carstairs, who, in his character as the heartless philanderer, was dying of manual strangulation. An unseen figure in a cloak had slipped a wire loop round his neck.
Pons’ client was giving a magnificent performance. With his tongue lolling from his mouth and his eyes rolling, he looked an horrific spectacle as he thrashed about helplessly, emitting terrifying choking noises. Presently he dropped to the floor and was then still. There was a thin ripple of applause from the other actors and the technicians and the cloaked figure stepped forward into the light to reveal the beautiful and flushed features of Dolly Richmond. She stood there, her eyes blazing with triumph, as the curtain fell slowly.
I must admit my own palms were sore as a spontaneous burst of applause burst forth. The next moment the curtain had risen again and both Carstairs and Miss Richmond, hand in hand, were ironically acknowledging the acclamation. I found Pons back behind me again.
“Admirable, is it not, Parker?” he commented drily. “The Thespian art has a good deal to commend it in these days of mindless and mechanical entertainment.”
“They are certainly playing well for rehearsal, Pons,” I said. “The effect should be tremendous on the opening night.”
“That is evidently what our unknown friend is hoping for,” said Pons soberly. “In my opinion this would be the exact moment; the lights down, everyone concentrating on the two dim figures. That is our Achilles heel, Parker, and somehow I have to pinpoint the greatest moment of danger and protect our client’s life.”
“It is a fearful responsibility, Pons.”
“Is it not, Parker? But I am convinced that the opening night is what we have to fear and we must make plans accordingly.”
Pons rose from his seat and drew me to the back of the theatre, which was now filled with the buzz of animated conversation.
“Let us just circulate a little, Parker. I have learned an astonishing amount of information about the lives of our client and his wife already, not to mention the other members of the company.”
Pons had sparks of irony in his eyes as he looked at me mockingly. We were in the foyer of the theatre now and he led the way though the empty and deserted bar to a narrow corridor that ran down the side of the building. On one side it gave on to the emergency exits; the other wall was pierced by doors at intervals, which led back into the theatre.
“You seem to know your way around remarkably well, Pons.” I said.
“I have the advantage of a plan of the building supplied through the courtesy of my client. Parker. It will be vitally important to know the lay-out thoroughly by the opening night.”
“You are convinced the killer will strike again, then?”
“Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. The accidental death of the other actor will have made him more determined to succeed than ever.”
“But supposing the whole charade were merely a mask to cover the murder which has already taken place, Pons?”
Solar Pons looked at me shrewdly as he motioned me through the far door of the corridor into a dusty passage beneath the stage.
“You constantly astonish me, Parker. This time you have excelled yourself.”
“I thought my supposition quite ingenious myself, Pons.” I said with a somewhat justifiable glow of pride.
We were going up a narrow spiral staircase railed with an iron balustrade.
“I had already given that matter a great deal of consideration,” said my companion over his shoulder. “To that effect I have been in touch with the Liverpool police. There is nothing at all in Stanwell’s background to merit such treatment. He was an inoffensive bachelor who had few friends and his death would have benefited no-one. The threat to Carstairs is genuine enough.”
He paused as heavy hammering reverberated throughout the building. Two carpenters passed at the end of an aisle, carrying heavy baulks of timber. We were evidently in the scenery store for huge canvas flats bearing the representations of Palladian temples, Arcadian scenery and sky-scrapers were stacked against massive wooden partitions. Pons put his hand against my arm as we moved down softly, and motioned caution with a finger against his lips.
There were other voices becoming sharper from among the distant hum of conversation and the cacophony of hammering.
“I tell you I have had enough of it, Carstairs!”
The voice was a man’s, thick and clotted with anger. There was not only anger but positive hatred in it.
“You must not allow yourself to become swayed by malicious and unfounded gossip, Setton.”
The second voice was obviously Carstairs’; 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.
“Rumour or not, it has got to stop, Carstairs. 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 Carstairs’ voice as he replied.
“What would you do, Setton? I could break you in half like a rotten stick if I chose!”
“There are other ways 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 clamour. Then there came the unmistakable rasp of a match-head against the box. Flame grew and glowed against the end of the passageway. Carstairs drew on his cigar, for the fragrant, aromatic odour reached my nostrils a few seconds later. Then his heavy footsteps followed his late companion and died out.
“Well, well,” said Pons after a short interval. “The case grows in interest.”
“You have no shortage of suspects, Pons.” I said. “I thought I recognised the gentleman.”
“It was Setton Richmond, the musical comedy star. Parker. As you know, he is married to Dolly Richmond and from what we heard by the lake in the 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.”