Ngaio Marsh - Collected Short Fiction of Ngaio Marsh

“Yes,” said Clive.

“How d’you know that?” Wingfield demanded.

“I heard you. I was quite close.”

“Rot.”

“Well—not you so much as him. Shouting. He said he’d ruin you,” said Clive.

Solomon Gosse intervened. “May I speak? Only to say that it’s important for you all to know that B-B-Bridgeman habitually b-behaved in a most intemperate manner. He would fly into a rage over a chipped saucer.”

“Thank you,” said Wingfield.

Curtis-Vane said, “Why was he cross with you, Mr. Wingfield?”

“He took exception to my work.”

“Taxidermy?” asked Dr. Mark.

“Yes. The bird aspect.”

“I may be wrong,” McHaffey said, and clearly considered it unlikely, “but I thought we’d met to determine when the deceased was last seen alive.”

“And you are perfectly right,” Curtis-Vane assured him. “I’ll put the question. Did any of you see Mr. Bridgeman after noon yesterday?” He waited and had no reply. “Then I’ve a suggestion to make. If he was alive last evening there’s a chance of proving it. You said when we found the apparatus in the tree that he was determined to record the call of the morepork. Is that right?”

“Yes,” said Solomon. “It comes to that tree every night.”

“If, then, there is a recording of the morepork, he had switched the recorder on. If there is no recording, of course nothing is proved. It might simply mean that for some reason he didn’t make one. Can any of you remember if the morepork called last night? And when?”

“I do. I heard it. Before the storm blew up,” said Clive. “I was reading in bed by torchlight. It was about ten o’clock. It went on for some time and another one, further away, answered it.”

“In your opinion,” Curtis-Vane asked the deer-stalkers, “should we hear the recording—if there is one?”

Susan Bridgeman said, “I would rather it wasn’t played.’

“But why?”

“It — it would be — painful. He always announced his recordings. He gave the date and place and the scientific name. He did that before he set the thing up. To hear his voice — I — I couldn’t bear it.”

“You needn’t listen,” said her son brutally.

Solomon Gosse said, “If Susan feels like that about it, I don’t think we should play it.”

Wingfield said, “But I don’t see—” and stopped short. “All right, then,” he said. “You needn’t listen, Sue. You can go along to your tent, can’t you?” And to Curtis-Vane: “I’ll get the recorder.”

McHaffey said, “Point of order, Mr. Chairman. The equipment should be handled by a neutral agent.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Wingfield exclaimed.

“I reckon he’s right, though,” said Bob Johnson.

Curtis-Vane asked Susan Bridgeman, very formally, if she would prefer to leave them.

“No. I don’t know. If you must do it—” she said, and made no move.

“I don’t think we’ve any right to play it if you don’t want us to,” Solomon said.

“That,” said McHaffey pleasurably, “is a legal point. I should have to—”

“Mr. McHaffey,” said Curtis-Vane, “there’s nothing ‘legal’ about these proceedings. They are completely informal. If Mrs. Bridgeman does not wish us to play the record, we shall, of course, not play it.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” said McHaffey, in high dudgeon. “That is your ruling. We shall draw our own conclusions. Personally, I consider Mrs. Bridgeman’s attitude surprising. However—”

“Oh!” she burst out. “Play it, play it, play it. Who cares! I don’t. Play it.”

So Bob Johnson fetched the tape recorder. He put it on the table. “It may have got damaged in the storm,” he said. “But it looks O.K. He’d rigged a bit of a waterproof shelter over it. Anyone familiar with the type?”

Dr. Mark said, “It’s a superb model. With that parabolic mike, it’d pick up a whisper at ten yards. More than I could ever afford, but I think I understand it.”

“Over to you, then, Doc.”

It was remarkable how the tension following Susan Bridgeman’s behaviour was relaxed by the male homage paid to a complicated mechanism. Even Clive, in his private fury, whatever it was, watched the opening up of the recorder. Wingfield leaned over the table to get a better view. Only Solomon remembered the woman and went to sit beside her. She paid no attention.

“The tape’s run out,” said Dr. Mark. “That looks promising. One moment; I’ll rewind it.”

There broke out the manic gibber of a reversed tape played at speed. This was followed by intervals punctuated with sharp dots of sound and another outburst of gibberish.

“Now,” said Dr. Mark.

And Caley Bridgeman’s voice, loud and pedantic, filled the tent.

“ Ninox novaeseelandiae . Ruru. Commonly known as Morepork. Tenth January, 1977. Ten-twelve p.m. Beech bush. Parson’s Nose Range. Southern Alps. Regarded by the Maori people as a harbinger of death.”

A pause. The tape slipped quietly from one spool to the other.

“ More-pork !”

Startling and clear as if the owl called from the ridgepole, the second note a minor step up from the first. Then a distant answer. The call and answer were repeated at irregular intervals and then ceased. The listeners waited for perhaps half a minute and then stirred.

“Very successful,” said Dr. Mark. “Lovely sound.”

“ But are you sure ? Darling, you swear you’re sure ?”

It was Susan Bridgeman. They turned, startled, to look at her. She had got to her feet. Her teeth were closed over the knuckles of her right hand. “No!” she whispered. “No, no .”

Solomon Gosse lunged across the table, but the tape was out of his reach and his own voice mocked him.

“ Of course I’m sure, my darling. It’s foolproof. He’ll go down with the b-b-b-bridge. ”

“Crown Court” was a popular British television series produced by Granada Television Limited. The program presented civil and criminal cases, with members of the audience chosen to act as the jury. Each script therefore gives brief alternate endings . Evil Liver was announced as “the first television play by distinguished crime thriller writer Dame Ngaio Marsh.” It was recorded at the Granada studios in Manchester on July 23, 1975, and broadcast exactly a month later. It lasted an hour and fifteen minutes, including commercial breaks. Among its cast were William Mervyn as the Judge, Jonathan Elsom as the Prosecution Counsel, William Simons as the Defense Counsel, David Waller as Major Ecclestone, and Joan Hickson as Miss Freebody. Joan Hickson would later become famous for her role as Miss Marple in the British series which was broadcast in the United States on the Public Broadcasting System program Mystery and on the Arts and Entertainment cable network .

Although in line with the format of “Crown Court” the script of Evil Liver does not state who was guilty, Ngaio Marsh included clues which, I believe, point toward her solution. At the end of the play, I’ll rejoin you to discuss the various possibilities .

We gratefully acknowledge Granada Television Limited for giving permission to print Evil Liver.

D. G. G.

Cast of Evil Liver:

Mr. Justice Campbell

The Prosecution Counsel, Marcus Golding, QC

The Defense Counsel, Martin O’Connor

Mary Freebody

Major Basil Ecclestone

Dr. Stephen Swale

Thomas Tidwell

Barbara Ecclestone

Dr. Ernest Smithson

Gwendoline Miggs

Wardress

Clerk of Court

Court Usher