Lovers Make Moan

“What’s more,” said Marcus Lynn, also from the witnesses’ part of the court, “the two keys mentioned were never out of my possession.”

The coroner accepted these interjections without comment and then turned to the circumstances which had led to the installation of Bourton as Pyramus.

“For the benefit of those whose knowledge of the play is not exhaustive,” said the coroner, “I should explain, perhaps, that the character in question takes part in a burlesque version of a tragic story in which the hero is supposed to commit suicide, a theatrical weapon with a retractable blade having been provided for this purpose.”

“And used harmlessly at the other performances,” Yorke reminded the gathering.

“Now, there arises a question of the deceased having taken over the part. This must have been at short notice,” the coroner went on.

“Yes, indeed, at very short notice. It meant he had to change his costume in a great hurry. The actor whose place he took became ill and could not continue in the part.”

“Is that actor in court?”

“No, sir, he is still under observation in hospital,” said the inspector of police.

“I see. Well, it would hardly seem that he could help us. Now, Mr Yorke, under what circumstances could the daggers have been changed over?”

“I have no more idea than anybody else.”

“Let us recapitulate. Will you tell the court how many daggers were used in the play?”

“There was the theatrical dagger which should have been in Bourton’s sword-belt, but apparently wasn’t, then Bradley and Woolidge each had a real one, as you have heard, and the court page had a dagger, but I believe she took her belt off when she was not on stage, and wore the dagger in only one short scene.”

“She?”

“Yolanda, my daughter, a child of nine.”

“Is she in court?”

“No.”

“Could she—playfully, of course—have changed over the daggers?”

“Certainly not. All the properties were laid out on trestle tables in the wings and were under constant surveillance from members of the cast. All the children were also under constant supervision. There is no way that Yolanda could have substituted one dagger for another and, in any case, she would never dream of doing such a thing.”

“Then can you not suggest any way in which the weapons could have got changed over?”

“No, I can’t. It is a mystery to me. The theatrical dagger wasn’t found until all the properties had been returned to the house and the trestle tables taken down to be stored in the summerhouse until the workmen who were to dismantle the floodlights and amplifiers could collect everything on the Monday. The day following the play was a Sunday, of course. The dagger would have been in shadow under the table. That is why neither Bourton nor anybody else spotted it and it was not found until everything was cleared away.”

“Call Marcus Lynn.”

Lynn went into the witness box and glanced at the daggers which remained on the ledge. Before the coroner could question him he said, pointing:

“Hey! One of these is the retractable dagger, and I recognise that one, but the last one I’ve never seen before. It does not come from my collection. What jiggery-pokery is this? If that’s the dagger which killed Bourton, I’ve no knowledge of it whatever.”

The inspector of police got to his feet.

“If you’ll refer to the note I sent up, Mr Coroner,” he said, “the police would like an adjournment at this point.”

But at this point there was another interruption. “I want to say something else. If the police or anybody thinks there is any chance that my husband knew he had picked up the wrong dagger and deliberately committed suicide with it,” said Barbara Bourton, standing up and taking, as it were, the centre of the stage, “I assure you that nothing could have been further from his mind. He was a happy, lighthearted man in a good financial position, enjoying excellent health and with no worries of any kind. I want that placed on record.”

“Thank you, Mrs Bourton. The inquest is adjourned sine die,” said the coroner, gathering up his papers.

“Well, that was a turn-up for the book,” said Jonathan, when he had settled his wife and Dame Beatrice in the car. “The coroner hadn’t bargained for an adjournment. Did you tip the police any winks, Aunt Adela?”

“No. The evidence we heard spoke for itself, I thought.”

“You mean that cuckoo in the nest, the extra dagger. Of course, Lynn may have been lying when he said it wasn’t one of his. I’ll tell you what, though: that dagger was so much like the theatrical one to look at that I wish I could have picked up the pair of them to compare the respective weights.”

“It wouldn’t really help,” said Deborah. “Donald would not have known the difference since, until he had to act as Rinkley’s understudy, he had never handled either dagger. He had a sword when he was Oberon. Marcus was most particular that nobody should handle the props except the people who actually used them and, once he had locked them away each time, nobody could fool about with them because he had the only key to the cupboard. The only people who could have got at them by picking the lock were Jon and myself and, of course, we wouldn’t dream of doing anything so frightful.”

“Even if you had dreamed of doing it, I don’t believe you know how,” said Dame Beatrice.