Ngaio Marsh - Light Thickens

“I’m sorry to drag you away,” said Alleyn.

“It’s all right. We’d come to a deadlock. To go on or not. He — was so right in the part.”

“A difficult decision.”

“Yes. It’s hard to imagine the play without him. It’s hard to imagine anything, right now,” said Peregrine.

“How will the actors feel?”

“About going on? Not very happy but they’ll do it.”

“And the new casting?”

“There’s the rub,” said Peregrine. “Simon Morten is Macbeth’s understudy and the Ross is Simon’s. We’ll have to knock up a new, very simple fight, a new Macduff can’t possible manage the present one. Simon’s good and ready. He’ll give a reasonable show, but the whole thing’s pretty dicey.”

“Yes. What sort of actor is Gaston Sears?”

Peregrine stared at him. “Gaston? Gaston .”

“He knows — he invented — the fight. He’s an arresting figure. It’s a very farfetched notion but I wondered.”

“It’s — it’s a frightening thought. I haven’t seen much of his acting but I’m told he was good in an unpredictable sort of way. He’s a very predictable person. A bit on the dotty side, some of them think. It — it certainly would solve a lot of problems. We’d only need to find a new Seyton and he’s a tiny part as far as lines go. He’s only got to look impressive. My God, I wonder… No. No ,” he repeated. And then: “We may decide to cut our losses and rehearse a new play. Probably the best solution.”

“Yes. I think I should remind you that — it’s a dazzling glimpse of the obvious — the murderer, and who he is I’ve not the faintest notion, will turn out to be one of your actors or else a stagehand. If the latter, I suppose you can go ahead but if the former — well, the mind boggles, doesn’t it?”

“I can feel mine boggling, anyway.”

“In the meantime I’d like to know what the story is, about the Macbeth superstitions and why Props and Simon Morten go all peculiar when I ask them.”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’d asked them not to talk to each other or to anyone else about these — happenings. You’ve got to consider the general atmosphere.”

And he told Alleyn sparingly about the dummy heads and the rat’s head in Rangi’s marketing bag.

“Have you any idea who the practical joker was?”

“None. Nor do I know if there is or is not any link with the subsequent horror.”

“It sounds like an unpleasant schoolboy’s nonsense.”

“It certainly isn’t our young William’s nonsense,” said Peregrine quickly. “He was scared as hell at the head on the banquet table. He’s a very nice small boy.”

“He’d have to be an infant Goliath to lift the claidheamh-mor two inches.”

“Yes. He would, wouldn’t he?”

“Where is he?”

“Bob Masters sent him home. Straight away. He didn’t want him to see it. Gaston dropped the claidheamh-mor and head on the stage. The boy was waiting to go on for the curtain call. Bob told him there’d been a hitch and there wasn’t a call and to get into his own clothes quick and catch an early bus home.”

“Yes. William Smith, Fox. In case we want him. Has he got a telephone number?”

“Yes,” said Peregrine. “We’ve got it. Shall I —?”

“I don’t think we want it tonight. We’ll ask the King and Props to confirm that Gaston Sears stood with the boy offstage. And that Macduff came straight off. If this is so, it completely clears Macduff. And Gaston, of course.”

“Yes,” said Peregrine.

“Now,” went on Alleyn, “suppose you tell me how the actors backstage positioned themselves, from the fight scene onward.”

“During the fight, Malcolm and Old Siward with Ross and Caithness assembled on the Prompt upper landing, out of sight, waiting for their final entrance. The rest of the forces waited on the O.P. side. The ‘dead’ characters — the King, Banquo, Lady Macduff, and her son — were also waiting O.P. for the curtain call. The witches were alone upstage.”

“Macbeth was alive and speaking up to the fight and through it?” asked Alleyn.

“Yes.”

“Therefore he must have been decapitated in the interval between his and Macduff’s exit, fighting, and Macduff’s and Gaston’s reentry with his head.”

“Yes,” said Peregrine wearily. “And it’s three and a half minutes at the most.”

“We’ll now summon the entire company and get them, if they can, to give each other alibis for that period.”

“Shall I call them?”

“In here, if you would. I don’t want them onstage just yet. Nor, I think, do they want it. Thank you, Jay. It’ll be a squash but never mind.”

Peregrine went out. Winter Meyer, who had stood inside the door without speaking, came to Alleyn’s table and put a folded paper on it.

“I think you should see this,” he said. “Perry agrees.”

Alleyn opened it.

The tannoy boomed out: “Everyone in the greenroom, please. Company and staff call. Everyone in the greenroom.”

Alleyn read the typed message: “murderers son in your co.”

“When did you get it? And how?” Winty told him.

“Is it true?”

“Yes,” said Winty miserably.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Perry thinks Barrabell does. The Banquo.”

“Spiteful character?”

“Yes.”

“It refers, I am quite sure, to the little Macduff boy, William Smith. I represented the police in the case,” Alleyn said. “He was a little chap of six then, but now I’ve seen the play twice, I recognize him. He’s got a very distinctive face. We didn’t call him. One of the victims was named Barrabell. Bank clerk. She was beheaded,” said Alleyn. “Here come the actors.”

By using a considered routine they managed to extract the information wanted in reasonable time.

Gaston Sears’s, Props’s, and Macduff’s alibis were secured. Alleyn read the names out from his programme and each in turn was remembered as being offstage in the group of waiting actors. The King and Nina Gaythorne were whispering to Gaston. Her dress was caught up.

“I want you to be very sure how you answer the next question. Does anyone remember any movement among you all that could have meant someone had slipped into the O.P. corner after Macduff came out?”

“We were too far upstage to do it,” said Barrabell. “All of us.”

“And does anyone remember Macbeth not coming off?”

There was a pause and then Nina Gaythorne said: “William said, ‘Where’s Sir Dougal? He’s still in there.’ Or something like that. Nobody paid much attention. Our cue was coming and we were getting into position to go on for the call.”

“Yes,” Alleyn said. “Now, I wonder if you would all go to your rooms and come out when you are called, as far as you can remember, exactly in the order you observed tonight. From the final fight scenes until the end I want you all to do exactly what you did then. Is that understood?”

“Not very pleasant,” said Barrabell.

“Murder and its consequences are never very pleasant, I’m afraid. Mr. Sears, will you read Macbeth’s lines, if you please?”

“Certainly. I know them, I think, by heart.”

“Good. You had better have a look, though. The timing must be exact.”

“Very well.”

“Do you know the moves?”

“Certainly. I also,” he said loftily, “know the fight.”

“Good. Are we ready? Will those of you who were in their dressing-rooms please go to them?”

They trooped off. Alleyn said to Peregrine: “You take over cuing, will you? From: Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we’ll die with harness on our back . We’ll go out onstage. It’s tidied up, I hope.”