Enter A Murderer

They filed off quietly. Simpson went to the prompt box and Sergeant Wilkins joined him there.

Alleyn had a word with both of them. Fox and Bailey stood offstage by the first and third left entrances. Two other men went to the O. P. Thompson and a third man disappeared down the dressing-room passage.

“Right,” said Alleyn, and walked down to the float.

“Call the last act, please,” said Simpson to Sergeant Wilkins.

Wilkins went off down the dressing-room passage. His voice could be heard on the stage.

“Last act, please, last act, please!”

Miss Max, who dressed in a room round the elbow of the passage, came out first, walked on to the stage, sat in the chair on the O. P. side, and took out her knitting. She was followed by Janet Emerald who went straight to the upstage window.

“Stay there as if you were speaking to Surbonadier,” said Alleyn quietly. “Now, Mr. Simpson.”

Simpson came out of the prompt box and went to the desk. He mimed the business of putting something in the top drawer.

“Now, Miss Emerald,” said Alleyn.

“I don’t remember — what I said.”

“About the cartridges, dear,” said Miss Max quietly.

“I–I’m always afraid you’ll forget those cartridges,” said Janet Emerald,

“Trust little Georgie, ” said Simpson.

“George, come over here. I want to show you something. This mat is bad where it is, dear.”

“What’s wrong with the mat, Susan?”

“It jams the door and spoils my eggzit.”

“Is that better?”

“That’s where it should be. Come here and let me measure my scarf.”

“Now, Miss Emerald, you spoke to Surbonadier.”

“I–I can’t. It’s too horrible.”

“Go across to the left and meet Mr. Simpson. You say: ‘Arthur’s tight, George, and I’m nervous.’ ”

“Arthur’s tight, George, and I’m nervous.”

“He’s giving a damn’ good show, anyway.”

“Now you whisper: ‘I’d like to kill him,’ and stand with your hands on the desk.”

“I’d — like — to kill—”

“All clear, please.”

Janet Emerald stood up and faced upstage.

“House lights. Stand by, please. Black-out.”

Alleyn blew a long blast on his whistle. Simpson with the book in his hand went on to the stage. Alleyn stood in the wings, where he could see the stage and dressing-room passage. Melville, who had stood near the prompt box, went tiptoe down the passage and round the elbow. Miss Vaughan came out of her room, leaving the door open; she knocked on Gardener’s door. He called: “Come in,” and she entered, closing the door behind her. It reopened to let out old Beadle. He stood outside, produced a cigarette and held it, unlit, in his mouth. Trixie Beadle came out of the star-room and joined him. They moved into the elbow of the passage.

Felix Gardener came out of his room and walked softly on to the stage. Here he paused, started, bent down and rubbed his foot, whispered: “What the hell!” and limped on a few paces. The Beadles walked away down the passage towards the wardrobe-room. All this took a very short space of time. On the stage Simpson called: “Curtain up.” The actors began to speak the dialogue, muttering their lines and raising their voices loudly at the end of each speech. This dialogue continued for perhaps half a minute and then the stage manager said:

“Lights.”

Alleyn blew his whistle and called out:

“Everyone on the stage, please.”

Once more the company assembled.

“Thank you very much,” said Alleyn. “You have helped me. I am sure it has been difficult and unpleasant for all of you. I can now explain myself a little further. I think you are entitled to an explanation. This reconstruction has proved that no one, who was beyond the elbow in the passage, could have come out on to the stage without ru

Janet Emerald began some sort of demonstration. Alleyn glanced coldly at her and she subsided.

“Mr. Saint was in his box on the prompt side. One theory was that he came through the proscenium door, substituted the cartridges, and returned by the same route. Wilkins, will you go to that door, open it and walk to the desk?”

Sergeant Wilkins marched to the proscenium exit and opened the door. It gave tongue to an ear-splitting shriek.

“That disposes of that,” said Alleyn. “Mr. Simpson and Props are left. The theory as regards Props is this. Props was on the stage during the black-out. He substituted the cartridges, and then made himself scarce. No one remembered seeing him offstage when the lights went up. Where did he go? The theory suggests that he went up that ladder and disappeared above the ceiling-cloth. If you’ll be good enough to help me I’ll demonstrate that. Mr. Simpson is in the prompt box; Miss Max, Miss Emerald, and the deceased are on the stage. Mr. Gardener comes out of the passage and runs into Props, who has just planted the cartridges. He shies off Mr. Gardener and goes up that ladder. He is wearing rubber shoes and is not heard. He wears Mr. Saint’s gloves that were left on the stage. Now, Mr. Simpson, will you be good enough to play his part?”

Simpson wetted his lips.

“I–I—can’t stand going up those ladders. I’ve no head for heights. It would — make — I can’t.”

Alleyn looked doubtfully at the bulk of Crammer and the greenish face of Mr. Melville. He turned resignedly to Gardener.

“Be a good fellow,” he said.

“Certainly,” said Gardener quietly.

“If your nerves will allow you, Mr. Simpson, perhaps you will impersonate Mr. Gardener.”

Simpson did not speak.

“Surely you can do that?”

“I’ll do it,” said Melville.

“Thank you — I should prefer Mr. Simpson to play this little scene. Now, Mr. Simpson.”

Simpson turned and went into Gardener’s room.

“Away you go,” said Alleyn to Gardener, who nodded and went to the desk. He drew out the top drawer, mimed the business of taking something out, putting something else in. He opened the lower drawer and shut it again, hesitated, glanced interrogatively at Alleyn, and came back to the wings.

“Come out, Mr. Simpson,” called Alleyn.

The dressing-room door opened and Simpson came out He walked down the passage and on to the stage. Gardener bumped into him, stepped aside and began to climb the ladder.

“Right up?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

Gardener went on up the ladder. They watched him. Suddenly they were all aware of the sibilant whisper and of the moving indentation in the cloth. His steps rang on the iron rungs. His head disappeared above the cloth. Then a terrible cry rang out.

“My God, what’s that!” screamed Simpson.

Gardener’s body swung out from the ladder. It seemed as if he would fall. His feet slipped and for a moment he hung by his hands. Then he righted himself.

“Alleyn!” he cried in a terrible voice, “Alleyn!”

“What’s the matter?” shouted Alleyn.

“He’s here — he’s hanged himself — he’s here.”

“Who?”

“Props — it’s Props.”

His horrified face looked down at them.

“It’s Props!” he repeated.

Fox, Bailey, Wilkins and Thompson came and stood by the foot of the ladder.

“Come down,” said Alleyn.

Gardener came down. Within six rungs of the stage he turned and saw the men that awaited him. With an incoherent cry he stopped short. His lips were drawn back, showing his gums. A streak of saliva trickled down his chin. He squinted.

“And how do you know it is Props?” asked Alleyn.

Gardener kicked down savagely at his face.

“Not again,” said Alleyn. “The other time was once too often.”