This made it difficult for me to concentrate on the stage and when I again re- focused my glasses on the left-hand side I saw something that gave me cause for the gravest concern. In addition to the hand which was now back in its old position there was an evil-looking bearded face which was staring at Carstairs and his three companions on stage with rapt attention. I reached into my inner pocket with my disengaged hand and sought the butt of my revolver.
I put it down on the ledge beside me and then, when I had made sure that the intent, bearded figure was still immobile, the profile of the face just clear of the curtains, I put down the glasses and threw off the safety catch. When I again raised the glasses to my eyes I saw that the situation had changed. There were now three objects in view; the clenched hand holding the fold of the curtain; the face: and a black, shiny object which seemed like the barrel of a rifle or shotgun.
The matter looked extremely serious. I glanced at my watch. There was just ten minutes to the big scene in the finale in which Carstairs was strangled with the wire noose. Pons and I had timed the play on so many occasions over the past weeks that I almost felt I could myself act as prompter. There was no time to lose if I were to avert a tragedy. I jumped to my feet, seized the revolver which I held close to my side and quitted the box.
As I ran down the corridor outside which led to the staircase connecting with the ground floor I could hear the orchestral music rising to a crescendo. The moment had almost come. I opened a wrong door at the rear of the stage and was immediately accosted by a little man in a blue serge suit who put his hand to his lips. I showed him my letter of authority signed by Carstairs and his expression changed. When I had whispered my requirements he motioned me toward a small set of railed steps which evidently led up toward the stage area.
I tiptoed quietly up the ladder and as I did so the stage lights were lowered, the two spotlights emphasising the area near the windows in which Dolly Richmond was to strangle Carstair. For one strange moment I wondered if the jealous, passionate actress might indeed strangle her lover in a paroxysm of rage and this thought so startled me that I stumbled and almost fell.
It was dark back here and I moved forward slowly until my eyes had adjusted to the lower intensity of the lighting, my right hand holding the revolver ready. The clear, emphatic tones of Carstairs as he made his final speech in the supposedly empty drawing-room, unaware of the hooded figure behind him, were ringing through the theatre. I estimated I had less than a minute to go. The orchestra were silent except for an insistent, high-pitched crescendo from the violins and, masked by this. I covered the last few yards to the side of the enormous stage.
I could see Pons’ client clearly, the spotlights holding him in an eerie yellow glow. Behind him were the big French doors and, uncannily realistic, the artificial “moonlight” from special lamps spilling in behind and making patterns of the window bars across the floor. The conductor of the orchestra was visible in the feint glow of the lowered footlights and there, right before me, the tense, expectant silhouette of the bearded man, so intently fixed on the drama being played to its horrific conclusion.
I paused for a moment, irresolute. The decision was a difficult one. The man in front of me might be perfectly harmless, yet I had a tremendous feeling of some impending disaster. On top of that Pons had warned me to keep alert and act if I saw anything suspicious. I could now only wait for this last minute or so until the climax of the play approached and see what this bearded stranger intended to do.
Carstairs’ had paused in his soliloquy and was circling the stage, his movements tense and predatory. There was an expectant hush in the auditorium still and I could see the pale ovals of the scattered faces of this extempore audience in the glow of the footlights. I took my attention from the man in front of me for a moment and looked up at the boxes, but the reflected light from the stage made it difficult to pick anything out.
The violins of the orchestra were emitting throbbing notes of menace and Carstairs had ceased his pacing, was slowly drawing back in front of the French windows again, the curtains of which I knew contained the figure of Dolly Richmond armed with the wire noose. My own tension was mounting too in this highly melodramatic atmosphere and I longed for the play to be over, when my responsibility should be ended.
In this novel situation where so many unexpected things could happen I was feeling a little out of my depth. I tightened my grip on the butt of the revolver at my side as Carstairs began his last vocal musings as he expressed his thoughts to the audience. I moved in closer to the curtains, conscious that the man in front of me was slowly raising the black barrel of the weapon he carried. I had not been able to see it before as his back was to me, his body blocking the view. The stage lighting shimmered on the gloss of the barrel and I slowly raised the revolver, conscious of a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and a dry-throated nervousness which was affecting the whole of my body.
The orchestral accompaniment was rising to a crescendo and I could see the intent, strained face of the conductor as he worked up the musicians to the finale. Carstairs had finished his speech and behind him the hooded figure which concealed the famous actress was drawing nearer. The noose was slipped quickly round the throat and Carstairs began his terrifying choking noises.
I was momentarily distracted and lowered the revolver. But at the same time the bearded man in front of me was galvanised into action. He turned and instead of threatening Carstairs as I had expected, he hurled his rifle into the orchestra pit. There was a loud clatter and a peculiar whining noise. As I blundered forward, revolver raised, the man with the beard evaded me and sped across the stage like lightning. He cannoned into Carstairs and the girl and the whole group went down with a tremendous noise.
At the same moment there was a streak of light across the spotlights and something struck the back of the stage with a tremendous crash. I did not wait for any further explanations but hurled myself forward at the bearded man as the auditorium exploded into uproar. I seized the legs of the attacker and attempted to drag him off Carstairs as the house lights went up.
I was stupefied as the thin man’s beard came off in my hands to reveal the mocking face of Solar Pons.
“My dear fellow,” he said ironically, “if you will kindly remove your not inconsiderable weight from my person I should be much obliged to you.”
“Pons!” I stammered. “I thought you were the person who sent those figures to your client.”
Pons shook his head as I helped him to his feet.
“I felt it best to take advantage of the dressing room facilities while I was treading the boards,” he chuckled. “The persons I suspected knew me too well. I realised you were behind me and trusted to your sense of self control not to queer my pitch. Nevertheless, it was a close-run thing.”
He gestured to the back of the stage where the head of a steel-shafted arrow was buried deep in the wooden flat of the scenery.
“Good heavens, Pons! Did you know this would happen? I thought we had to fear only the opening night.”
“I suspected something of the sort, Parker. Which was why I asked you to be alert. But just give me a hand with Carstairs and Miss Richmond, will you?”
The great actor and his companion had remained on the floor as though stunned during this exchange but now the stage was beginning to fill with people and Carstairs had found his voice.