Killer Dolphin

ELEVEN

The Show Will Go On

Harry Grove had given no trouble. When Trevor screamed he stepped back from him. He was sheet-white but he achieved a kind of smile.

“No doubt,” he had said to Alleyn, “you will now issue the usual warning and invite me to accompany you to the nearest police station. May I suggest that Perry should be informed. He’ll want to get hold of my understudy.”

And as this was the normal procedure it had been carried out.

So now, at Alleyn’s suggestion, they had returned, not to the Yard but to The Dolphin. Here for the first time Mr. Conducis kept company with the actors that he employed. They sat round the circle foyer while, down below, the public began to cue up for the early doors.

Peregrine had called Harry Grove’s understudy and he and the new child-actor were being rehearsed behind the fire curtain by the stage-director.

“I think,” Alleyn said, “it is only fair to give you all some explanation since each of you has to some extent been involved. These, as I believe, are the facts about Saturday night. I may say that Hartly Grove has admitted to them in substance.

“Grove left the theatre with Miss Meade and her party, saying he would go to Canonbury and pick up his guitar. He had in fact brought his guitar to the theatre and had hidden it in a broom cupboard in the Property Room where it was found, in the course of his illicit explorations, by Trevor. Grove got into his open sports car, drove round the block and parked the car in Phipps Passage. He re-entered the theatre by the pass-door while Mr. Meyer and Mr. Knight were in the office. He may have been seen by Jobbins, who would think nothing of it as Grove was in the habit of coming round for messages. He was not seen by Miss Bracey who mistook Jobbins for him because of the coat.

“Grove remained hidden throughout the rumpus about Trevor until, as he thought, the theatre was deserted except for Jobbins. At eleven o’clock he dialled his own number and let it ring just long enough for his wakeful neighbour to hear it and suppose it had been answered.

“It must have given him a shock when he heard Trevor, in the course of his fooling, pluck the guitar string. It was that scrap of evidence, by the way, when you remembered it, Jay, that set me wondering if Grove had left his instrument in the theatre and not gone to Canonbury. A moment later he heard the stage-door slam and thought, as Mr. Jay and Miss Du

Peregrine gave a short ejaculation but when Alleyn looked at him said: “No. Go on. Go on.”

“Having dumped the guitar Grove returned to the stairway from the stage to the circle, climbed it and waited for midnight in the upper box. And, throughout this performance, Trevor peeped, followed, listened, spied.

“At midnight Jobbins left his post under the treasure and went downstairs to ring Police and Fire. Grove darted to the wall panel, opened it, used his torch and manipulated the combination. There had been a lot of talk about the lock after the safe was installed and before the treasure was put into it. At that time it was not guarded and I think he may have done a bit of experimenting, after hours, on the possible ‘glove’ combination.”

Winter Meyer knocked on his forehead and groaned. Marcus Knight said: “Oh God!”

“He opened the safe, removed the display-stand with its contents and I think only then realized he had engaged the switch that operates the front doors and the interior lighting. At that moment Trevor, who had stolen quite close (just as he did to me when I looked at the safe), said— It is his favourite noise at the moment— ‘Z-z-z-z-yock. Slash.’

“It must have given Grove a nightmarish jolt. He turned, saw the boy standing there in the darkened circle and bolted into the foyer clutching his loot. Only to find Jobbins rushing upstairs at him. He pushed the dolphin pedestal over and down. As Jobbins fell, Trevor came out of the circle and saw it all. Trevor is still not quite clear here but he thinks he screamed. He knows Grove made for him and he remembers plunging down the central steps in the circle. Grove caught him at the bottom. Trevor says—and this may be true—that he snatched the display-stand and threw it overboard before Grove could recover it. The last thing he remembers now is Grove’s face close to his own. It was the sight of it this morning, near to him, in association with the single twang effected by my colleague, Inspector Fox, who was modestly concealed behind a screen, that bridged the gap in Trevor’s memory.”

“A faint perfume,” Peregrine said loudly, “and a most melodious twang.”

“That’s Aubrey, isn’t it?” Alleyn asked. “But shouldn’t it be a curious perfume? Or not?”

Peregrine stared at him. “It is,” he said, “and it should. You’re dead right and why the hell it’s eluded me I ca

Emily said: “And, of course, it’s a single plangent note that brings down the curtain on The Cherry Orchard.”

“You see, Emily?” said Peregrine.

“I see,” she said.

“What the hell is all this?” Knight asked plaintively.

“I’ll get on with it,” Alleyn said. “After a brief struggle Grove, now desperate, rids himself of Trevor by precipitating him into the stalls. He hears Hawkins at the stagedoor and once again bolts into the circle foyer. He knows Hawkins will come straight through to the front and he hasn’t time to retrieve his guitar, get the key, unlock, unbolt and unbar the pass-door. There lies the body, dressed in his own outlandish coat. He strips off the coat, takes the scarf from the pocket to protect his own clothes and re-enters the darkened circle, to all intents and purposes Jobbins. Hawkins, now in the stalls, sees him, addresses him as Jobbins, and is told to make the tea. He goes backstage. Grove has time, now, to bundle the body back into the coat, fetch his guitar and let himself out. He drives to Chelsea and gets there fully equipped to be the life and soul of Miss Meade’s party.”

“And he was, you know,” Destiny said. “He was.”

She clasped her hands, raised them to her face and began to weep. Knight gave an inarticulate cry and went to her.

“Never mind, my darling,” he said. “Never mind. We must rise above. We must forget.”

Mr. Cohducis cleared his throat. Destiny threw him a glance that was madly eloquent of some ineffable generalization. He avoided it.

“The motive,” Alleyn said, “was, of course, theft. Harry Grove knew a great deal about Mrs. Constantia Guzma

Knight, who was kissing Destiny’s hands, groaned slightly and shuddered.

“But I think he knew more about her than that,” Alleyn went on. “She was a guest of Mr. Conducis’s six years ago in the Kalliope, when the yacht was wrecked off Cape St. Vincent. At that time, six years ago, Grove was going through a bad patch and taking any jobs he could get. Lorry-driving. Waiter in a strip-joint. And steward.”

He turned to Mr. Conducis. “I was about to ask you yesterday when Grove himself interrupted us: was he a steward on board the Kalliope?”

Nobody looked at Mr. Conducis.

“Yes,” he said.