Pageant of Murder

dancing about on the platform, was apparently shouting his head off, but whether to urge on reluctant voters or in encouragement or denunciation of the battle, it was impossible to say, as his voice made no impression on the din.

“Here,” said Kitty, “let’s get out of this. There will be police reinforcements along in a minute and we don’t want to get mixed up in anything.”

“All right,” said Laura. She seized a passing arm and smacked down hard on a hand which was holding a knife. There was a yell of pain, and the knife tinkled on to the roadway. Laura kicked it into the gutter. As its owner, with hideous curses, bent to pick it up, she kicked him and sent him sprawling. “I’ve always wanted to do that to one of them,” she said, as they left the field of battle, “so home, James, and don’t spare the horses. I noticed that Giles Faudrey did not stay to see things through.”

“I expect he was bored, and left soon after we did,” said Kitty. “Tell me all about the Town Hall show this afternoon.”

Laura obliged with a succinct account, and added, “I found out that Falstaff’s murderer could have lurked in that room labelled Bouquets until he saw his chance to do the job. It looks as though it must have been somebody in the cast. You know that door at the back?”

“Yes, the two comedians left by it.”

“I know. But it’s got a Yale lock. Nobody could have come in that way. The murderer, therefore, was already on the premises.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Death of Edward III

“From the date of this deplorable event until the middle of the…century, history records little concerning local matters…”

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It had been laid down as a command by Dame Beatrice that Laura was to stay the night in Kitty’s flat. From what she knew of young Mr Perse, Dame Beatrice had added, Kitty might be glad of a girlhood friend with whom she could share her woes.

Twigg was at home when they arrived. He produced bottles and a shaker and informed Laura that dinner would be ready at half-past eight. When the in-coming tide of relaxation had set in, he ventured to enquire whether the pageant had been a success.

“Well, it has, from Laura’s point of view, but I don’t know yet about Julian,” Kitty replied. “Laura made a yob yell, and he dropped his knife, and then she kicked him. After that we skedaddled.”

“Retreated in good order,” amended Laura. Twigg put his head on one side. “We did, you know,” said Laura. “No panic. Just a strategic withdrawal. You see, old Kitty, with her usual omniscience, deduced that police reinforcements were on the way, so, as we didn’t want to get our names in the papers…”

“Let’s have it from the beginning,” suggested Twigg. “One of you at a time, if possible.” He settled down for a cosy twenty minutes or so, having taken the precaution of pouring himself a second cocktail before he left the sideboard. At a nod from Laura, Kitty began the tale. There was not so very much to tell.

“Julian got his elephants all right,” said Kitty. “I made Dog come away before they began to stampede or something. The Roman costumes were good, and he’d made some poor boy learn yards and yards of Latin—cruelty to children, I call it—and there wasn’t a smell of the Mayor from beginning to end of the pageant. At least he didn’t boycott mine.”

“He’d hardly dare to, surely. Didn’t he approve of Julian’s project?”

“I don’t think it was that, because the Mayoress turned up to the Chapter of the Garter, during which Dog…”

“Only during the first scene,” put in Laura.

“During which Dog sneaked away behind the scenes and cowered there until the interval.”

“Doing a spot of detective work. Sneaking and cowering didn’t come into it. Strike those words from the record,” commanded Laura.

“Well, anyway, after the Romans—oh, I forgot to mention Domesday Book. It was terribly dim, but the Batty- Faudreys gave us coffee and then Julian went back to school to round up his boys for the afternoon idiocy—this Garter business and the election stuff in the Butts—and we had some lunch and Laura went along to the Town Hall. The rest of it you know.”

“Be interested to find out how the fracas ended. Why don’t you give Julian a ring?” asked Laura.

“What, worry the poor innocent after the kind of day he must have had?” cried Julian’s kindhearted aunt. “I only hope he isn’t drowning his sorrows too deep. He’s got to go to school again tomorrow.”

“I think you’ll find that, from his point of view, the pageant was a great success,” said Laura.

“With that awful battle at the end, Dog?”

“The usual give-and-take of an eighteenth-century election. I bet he’s delighted the yobs turned up in force and started a brouhaha.”

This view was confirmed by the young man himself. He held a long telephone conversation with Kitty at ten o’clock that evening and, professing himself delighted with the way things had gone, canvassed her opinion upon the proceedings. Kitty replied, without reserve (for she was a generous-hearted woman), that she thought the pageant had been an all-out success. She enquired whether there had been any trouble with the police.

“Not a whisper, after the gangs had scarpered,” Julian replied. “I indicated that the in-fighting had been a put- up job and received official disapproval for provoking a breach of the peace, but everything ended with goodwill on