Ngaio Marsh - Light Thickens

“So you came to the crisis. All the elaborate attempts to incriminate young William came to nothing. And then, suddenly, inexplicably, there is the real, the horrible crime of Sir Dougal’s decapitation. How do you explain that?”

“I don’t,” he said at once. “I know nothing about it. Nothing. Apart from his vanity and his accepting that silly title, he was harmless enough. A typical bourgeois hero, which maybe is why he excelled as Macbeth.”

“You see the play as an antiheroic exposure of the bourgeois way of life, do you? Is that it? Can that be it?”

“Certainly. If you choose to put it like that. It’s the Macbeths’ motive. Their final desperate gesture. And they both break under the strain.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Certainly,” he repeated. “Of course, our reading was, as usual, idiotic. Take the ending: Hail, King of Scotland ! In other words, ‘Hail to the old acceptable standards. The old rewards and the old dishing out of cash and titles.’ We cut all that, of course. And the bloody head of Macbeth stared the young Malcolm in the face. Curtain,” said Barrabell.

“Have you discussed the play with your political chums at the Red Fellowship meetings?”

“Yes. Not in detail. More as a joke, really.”

“ A joke ,” Alleyn exclaimed. “Did you say a joke ?”

“A bit on the macabre side, certainly. There’s a meeting every Sunday morning. You ought to come. I’ll bring you in on my ticket.”

“Did you talk about the murder?”

“Oh yes. Whodunit talk. You know.”

“Who did do it?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know, do I?”

Alleyn thought: He’s not so frightened, now. He’s being impudent.

“Have you thought about the future, Mr. Barrabell? What do you think of doing?”

“I haven’t considered it. There’s talk of another Leftist Players tour but of course I thought I was settled for a long season here.”

“Of course. Would you read this statement and if it’s correct, sign it? Pay particular attention to this point, will you?”

The forefinger pointed to the typescript.

“You were asked where you were between Macbeth’s last speech and Old Siward’s epitaph for his son. It just says, ‘Dressing-room and O.P. center waiting for a call.’ Could you be a little more specific?”Alleyn asked.

“I really don’t see quite how.”

“When did you leave the dressing-room?”

“Oh. We were called on the tannoy. They’ll give you the time. I pulled on my ghost’s head and the cloak and went out.”

“Did you meet anybody in the passage?‘

“ Meet anyone? Not precisely. I followed the old King and the Macduffs, mother and son, I remember. I don’t know if anyone followed me. Any of the other ‘corpses.’ ”

“And you were alone in the dressing-room?”

“Yes, my dear Chief Superintendent. Absolutely alone.”

“Thank you.” Alleyn made an addition and offered his own pen. “Will you read and sign it, please? There.”

Barrabell read it. Alleyn had written: “Corroborative evidence. None.”

He signed it.

“Thank you,” Alleyn said and left him.

In the passage he ran into Rangi. “Hullo,” he said, “I’m getting statements signed. Would it suit you to do yours now?”

“Good as gold.”

“Where’s your room?”

“Along here.”

He led the way to where the passage turned left and the rooms were larger.

“I’ve got Ross and Lennox and Angus in with me,” Rangi said. He came to the correct door and opened it. “Nobody here. It’s a bit of a muddle, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve packed up, I see.”

He cleared a chair for Alleyn and took one himself.

“Yours was a wonderful performance,” said Alleyn. “It was a brilliant decision to use those antipodean postures: the whole body working evil.”

“I’ve been wondering if I should have done it. I don’t know what my elders would say: the strict ones. It seemed to be right for the play. Mr. Sears approved of it. I thought maybe he would think it all nonsense but he said there are strong links throughout the world in esoteric beliefs. He said all or anyway most of the ingredients in the spell are correct.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Alleyn said. He saw that around his neck on a flax cord Rangi wore a tiki , a greenstone effigy of a human fetus. “Is that a protection?” Alleyn asked.

“In my family for generations.” The brown fingers caressed it.

“Really? You’re a Christian, aren’t you? Forgive me; it’s rather confusing —”

“It is, really. Yes. I suppose I am. The Mormon Church. It’s very popular with my people. They don’t ‘mormonize,’ you know, only one wife at a time, and they’re not all that fussy about our old beliefs. I suppose I’m more pakeha than Maori in ordinary day-to-day things. But when it comes to this — what’s happened here — it — well, it all comes rolling in, like the Pacific, in huge waves, and I’m Maori, through and through.”

“That I understand. Well, all I want is your signature to this statement. You weren’t asked many questions but I wonder if you can give me any help over this one. The actual killing took place between Macbeth’s exit fighting and Malcolm’s entrance. Those of you who were not onstage came out of your dressing-rooms. There were you three witches and the dead Macduffs and the King and the Banquo under his ghost mask and cloak. Is that correct?”

Rangi shut his large eyes. “Yes,” he said. “That’s right. And Mr. Sears. He was with the rest of us but as the cue got nearer he moved away into the O.P. corner with Macduff, ready for their final entrance.”

“Was anyone following you?”

“The other two witches. We were in a bunch.”

“Anyone else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sure?”

“Yes,” said Rangi firmly. “Quite sure. We were last.”

He read it carefully and signed it. As he returned it to Alleyn he said: “It doesn’t do to meddle with these things. They are wasps’ nests that are better left alone.”

“We can’t leave a murder alone, Rangi.”

“I suppose not. All the same. He made fun of things that are tapu — forbidden. My great-grandfather knew how to deal with that.”

“Oh?”

“He cut off the man’s head,” said Rangi cheerfully. “And ate him.”

The tannoy broke the silence that followed. “Members of the company are requested to assemble in the greenroom for a managerial announcement. Thank you,” it said.

Alleyn found Fox in the greenroom. “Finished?” he asked. “I’ve got all the statements. Except, of course, your lot. They’re not conspicuously helpful. There’s one item that the King noticed. He says — hold on a jiffy — here we are. He says he noticed that Sears was wheezing while he waited with them before the final entry. He said something about it and Sears tapped his own chest and frowned. He made a solemn thing with his eyebrows. ‘Asthma, dear boy, asthma. No matter.’ Can’t you see him doing it?”

“Yes. Vincent Crummies stuff. He must have found that massive claidheamh-mor a bit of a burden lumping it around with him.”

“What I thought. Poor devil. Here comes the management. We’ll hand over.”

They put the statements in a briefcase and settled themselves inconspicuously at the back of the room.

The management came through the auditorium and onstage by way of the Prompt box and from thence to the greenroom. They looked preternaturally solemn. The senior guardian was in the middle and Winter Meyer at the far end. They sat down behind the table, watching the company file in.