Pageant of Murder

“Oh, yes. The scenery had to be changed, and we didn’t want a hold-up. Then the choirs had to be got down from the gallery and given time for all the usual things children seem to need to do on these occasions, and we wanted to let people sneak out for a lung-cancerous cigarette or a delirium tremens drink, and so forth. It was a bit of a last-minute decision, as you say, and, of course, we never got around to Scene Two because, by the time the interval was over, they’d lost Falstaff.”

“Yes, indeed, madam. Another routine question, if you don’t mind. Where were you during that interval?”

“I spent it in the auditorium. It wasn’t until there was this hold-up by the drama club that I went backstage and was told that Falstaff was missing.”

“I imagine that there were witnesses to this, madam?—your continued presence in the auditorium, I mean?”

“I sat between my friend Mrs Gavin here, and my husband. A row of Councillors was behind us. The Mayor and Mayoress, the Town Clerk and the vicar and his wife were in the front row with me, and…”

“Thank you very much, Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg. You will appreciate that I am bound to ask these questions. When exactly did you receive the first intimation that Mr Luton was missing?”

“Well, as I told you, at the end of the interval. We were waiting for the curtain to go up on Scene Two, and, of course, it didn’t, so I felt bound to find out why not.”

“I understand that you then went on to the stage and informed the audience that one of the actors was ill. What made you say that? You did not know whether it was strictly true, did you?”

“Well, hang it all,” said Kitty reasonably, “you try standing up in front of the local coshboys and announcing that the chief actor can’t be found! If you can’t imagine the reaction, I can!”

The young detective-constable smiled.

“I take your point, madam. You mean you were anxious to save yourself and others embarrassment. Quite. Very sensible and tactful, I’m sure. Well, as you’ll have deduced, we are sure that it must have been during the interval that Mr Luton met his death. Of course, we are keeping an open mind about what actually happened. Would you know anything about two swords which were used in the production?”

“Only that one of them got mislaid at the last rehearsal. But it was all right on the night.”

“I am glad to hear that, madam.”

“So poor old Falstaff was murdered,” said Laura, when the policeman had gone. “It’s what all that added up to. His “glad to hear that, madam”, was a nice bit of irony, you know.”

“Murdered?” cried Kitty, scandalised, “How do you mean—murdered?”

“The swords. Didn’t it ring a bell in your mind when he mentioned them? When he said “stabbed” what he really meant was that somebody must have run Falstaff through with a sword.”

Kitty looked horrified and incredulous.

“But you couldn’t run anybody through with a property sword, Dog,” she said—“or could you?”

“So you didn’t notice that one of the so-called property swords was a real one? I did.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you tell me at the time?”

“There didn’t seem any point in telling you. They didn’t fight a duel with them. I thought nothing of it at all until now, but I bet you Falstaff was killed with the real one.”

“That poor little man! He seemed so utterly harmless.”

“Yes. I wonder how they managed the rest of it.”

“They? Managed the rest of what?”

“Well, all I mean is that two people would have been needed to carry the body down to the river and dump it in the mud.”

“I don’t see that, Dog. He was ever such a slight little man. Even the cushions, to make him look fat, were inflatable and hardly weighed a thing.”

“I suppose the police are asking everybody who was involved with The Merry Wives the same questions as this chap asked you. I’m glad you had an alibi for the time when it must have been done.”

“But why should I want to kill the poor soul?” wailed Kitty.

“Why should anybody want to? That’s one thing the police will have to find out. The means, I would say, are pretty obvious, and the opportunity presented itself. All that remains to be discovered, as you so rightly point out, is the motive. The only thing is that I don’t see how it could have been done during the interval.”

“Why not, Dog?”

“Too many people milling about. Think of all those schoolkids! In any case, how many people knew there was going to be an interval before you actually announced it to the audience?”

“Nobody but The Merry Wives cast, so far as I know.”

“Somebody in the cast may have told somebody outside the cast.”

“I wonder where those menservants were—those who carried out the basket. Where were they, and what were they doing, when Falstaff was killed?—because I can’t believe either of them did it. They were the only nice people in the play, except for that little boy,” said Kitty.

“If they didn’t do it, what were they doing, and where were they, with fifty-one pubs in the town—beg pardon, borough—and one of them bang opposite the Town Hall? Oh, Kay, don’t be such a nit-wit! It would have been the