by Evelyn James
Yet, an argument that occurred nine years ago was hardly cause to arrest Mervyn. No, the nail in the coffin, so to speak, was that when Dr Deáth conducted his autopsy on Hutson he discovered the man was clutching a very distinctive button in his closed hand. A button from Buttons. When Park-Coombs had confronted Mervyn backstage, it had taken only a moment to identify where a button had been lost and a replacement, that did not match the others, had been sewn on. Mervyn could not explain how his lost button had ended up in Hutson’s hand.
Nor could he answer why a witness, who the inspector would not name, had walked into the police station that morning and insisted they had seen Mervyn follow Hutson as they came off stage and appeared angry. It was all very damning and Mervyn had not been able to offer any innocent explanations for the evidence against him.
“Let’s go inside and try to make some sense of this,” Clara said gently to Maddock. “The pantomime will carry on without you for a bit.”
Maddock was too stunned to argue. The formerly under-suspicion Erikson had been Mervyn’s understudy and had taken over as Buttons. Being of the same height and build as the actor, he fitted Mervyn’s costumes without adjustments, which also meant that Mervyn could fit his. Clara had not mentioned that aloud, as it was another piece of circumstantial evidence that could condemn Mervyn.
She ushered Maddock to his temporary office in one of the smaller dressing rooms. Tommy was waiting for them. He gave Clara a hopeful look, but she quickly shook her head. They had at first thought they could persuade the inspector he was wrong, but even Clara could not argue with what Park-Coombs had presented to her. She had to admit, there looked a fair possibility that Mervyn was the killer and this case had been solved right under Clara’s nose.
As Maddock sat down in a chair, Tommy presented him with a glass of brandy he had fetched from the upstairs bar. Maddock took a deep drink and choked.
“Well, what do we make of it all?” Tommy asked Clara.
She sat down on a padded stool and tried to focus on the case again.
“Much of the evidence against Mervyn is circumstantial,” she began. “Though, we both know that many a murderer has been convicted on similar circumstantial evidence. The really damning part is that Mervyn attacked Hutson once before. Whichever way you look at that, it makes it appear he held a pretty serious grudge against the man.”
Tommy whistled at the news.
“There was bad blood between them?” He mused. “What was it over?”
Clara glanced at Maddock, hoping he was paying attention and would explain the matter fully to them. He took another long drink of brandy.
“You probably think I should have mentioned that before,” he said weakly to them. “I was aware of the situation, but both men assured me it would cause no issue for this year’s pantomime.”
“What was the cause of the grievance between them?” Clara nudged him.
Maddock wrapped his hands around the brandy glass, seeming to draw comfort from the feel of the solid tumbler in his palms.
“Stanley and Mervyn have worked in pantomimes together since… actually, I am not sure exactly when they first performed together, but it was certainly before the turn of the century. And they always played the same parts. Like a lot of stalwarts in the pantomime circuit, they had found their preferred roles and they stuck to them,” he began uneasily. “Of course, Buttons and the Dame always play together, they are the comic staple and bounce off one another. You get a good Buttons and Dame combination going and you know the panto will be a hit. People don’t come to see the hero and heroine, they come to see the larger-than-life dame and her hard-done-by sidekick. Year after year, that pair will steal the show, at least if you have good casting they will. I have seen pantomimes fail because of a poor pairing, even when the principal girls have been big names.”
Maddock gave a long sigh.
“Up until 1913, if you could hire Baldry and Hutson for your panto, you knew you were onto a winner. Typically, one always came with the other. If you got Hutson, you knew you had Baldry and vice versa. Those two were no fools, they knew they were a good team and could ask for a premium rate when they worked together.”
“What happened to so dramatically change things?” Tommy asked quietly.
Maddock’s knuckles had gone white around the glass.
“Remember I mentioned that Hutson started to drink after his wife died? Well, he was not the only one with a vice. Mervyn was addicted to morphine. I think he hurt his back and was prescribed the drug originally to help him keep performing. Anyway, by 1913, he was taking a dose every few hours and always before he performed. Honestly, some nights neither man went on stage without a drink or a drug in their system,” Maddock shrugged as if this was all very commonplace. “That night in 1913, Stanley had drunk a little more than he should have, and he accidentally knocked over Mervyn’s morphine bottle when he visited him in the dressing room. The bottle smashed and there was no time to fetch more, so Mervyn had to go onstage without his usual dose.
“Things went downhill from there. Mervyn was in a state, jittery with nerves and then lacking his dose and feeling the withdrawal effects. If Stanley had not been so drunk, maybe the incident would have passed without anything serious happening, but Stanley was dropping lines and then adding new ones. Admittedly they were funny and all pantos revolve around a small amount of improvisation, but Mervyn was struggling to get through each scene and could not handle Stanley’s audience stealing antics. By the interval, Mervyn was so twitchy and jumpy, a pin dropping would have him leaping into the air.
“Probably if someone had found him some morphine all would have settled. But no one did, and Mervyn was getting more and more erratic, while Stanley was slipping into the irreverent stage of drunkenness. He began to push Mervyn, enjoying seeing his reaction, and that was when it happened. Scene eight, the forest of Riding. Stanley made some joke about Buttons being only of any use when he was high and Mervyn snapped. It wasn’t even a very funny joke. I don’t think the audience grasped the point. Anyway, when Mervyn and Stanley walked off stage, Mervyn grabbed up a prop sword and started attacking Stanley.
“It was quite a mess. Stanley passed out. The audience caught glimpses of the chaos and the police had to be summoned.”
“Certainly unpleasant,” Tommy agreed. “But not something to hold a grudge over for nine years, surely?”
“You forget,” Clara interrupted, “Mervyn did not work on the stage again after that, not until this year.”
“That wasn’t directly due to Stanley’s involvement,” Maddock said. “The theatre director decided Mervyn was not fit to be in his pantomime and told him to go seek help. Stanley got a warning too and made the effort to cut back on his drinking. Mervyn vanished for a while. I later learned he had gone to one of those special clinics that help a person with addictions. After he was clean, he found he could not face theatre work anymore. He had developed terrible stage-fright. That was why he went into radio, instead.”
“What changed to make him agree to your pantomime?” Clara asked.
“A chance meeting between Mervyn and Stanley,” Maddock replied. “I had already hired Hutson. I was still looking for a Buttons. Stanley bumped into Mervyn in London, seemed one of those lucky coincidences. They talked, reminisced about the old days and Stanley persuaded Mervyn to give panto another chance. Spoke about reviving their old partnership and Mervyn was taken in. We all wondered about his nerves, but he has been completely professional through the whole thing.”
Maddock grew solemn. The brandy glass was empty, but he still clung to it.
“That’s why I can’t think he killed Stanley. They were friends and they had forgiven one another for their past failings. Because of Stanley, Mervyn was seeing his career revive. Why would you kill a man who was helping you?”
“It does seem an unlikely scenario,” Clara agreed. “Unless something was said last night, something that stirred old grievances.”
Maddock s
hook his head, unable to believe it all.
“Aside from this old argument from 1913, what evidence is there against Mervyn?” Tommy said. “Maybe there is something there we have missed.”
“Mervyn admitted freely that he was the last to see Stanley alive,” Clara said calmly. “Or, rather, the last before the killer. The only other physical evidence is that Hutson was clutching one of the buttons from Mervyn’s costume when he died. I imagine the police theory is that he grabbed the costume as he died and tore a button off.”
“There are other ways a button could have come to be in his hand as he died,” Tommy pointed out. “Maybe it was lost earlier and Hutson spotted it on the floor, picked it up and intended to return it to Mervyn?”
“Maybe,” Clara was not satisfied with the explanation, it was too vague and would Stanley really have kept hold of a button as he was attacked unless it was somehow important to pointing at his killer? “You know what troubles me? The witness who says they saw Mervyn following Mr Hutson.”
“Why does that trouble you?” Maddock said, his tone dull even as he tried to keep up.
“Well, only a handful of people knew that Mr Hutson was dead until you spoke to the cast today,” Clara explained. “Outside of myself, my companions and the police, the only persons in the theatre who knew Stanley had been murdered were you, Mr Maddock, and the killer. The cast were not informed until today and none have left the building since they heard the news, I believe?”
“No, you are right,” Maddock nodded. “I told them at the start of the afternoon warmup rehearsal. No one has left since.”
“And among the theatre staff, who knows of what occurred?” Clara persisted.
Maddock thought about the question.
“We only told the dressers just before the inspector arrived. I have not mentioned it to anyone else, though no doubt the gossip is doing the rounds by now.”
“You only told the dressers Mr Hutson was dead, not that he had been murdered. Do you see my point?” Clara asked him.
Maddock frowned, then he shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Miss Fitzgerald, but I am struggling to think straight. You will have to spell it out.”
“I think I know what Clara is saying,” Tommy interjected. “If none of the cast or theatre staff knew Mr Hutson was murdered last night, then who went to the police station and said they had seen Mervyn follow Hutson? Only someone who knew he was dead and that someone had attacked him would have done that. And since neither myself, Clara or our friends could have provided information on what was happening backstage during the interval, that leaves a very small pool of people.”
“One of which is you, Mr Maddock,” Clara pointed out.
“Me?” Maddock blinked in alarm. “I did not tell the police any such nonsense! I not only never saw Mervyn follow Stanley, but even if I did, I would not accuse my remaining top named star of murder!”
Maddock looked stunned that Clara would even suggest it.
“I would not go out of my way to ruin my panto, even if I believe Mervyn had killed Stanley, which I don’t!”
Clara believed him. His confession that the panto was more important than finding a murderer rang true. He didn’t even seem to realise how terrible his admission was – that he cared more about a play than he did about a murdered friend.
“That leaves only one possibility,” Clara continued. “Someone else knew that Stanley Hutson was dead and if we assume Mervyn is innocent, that implies this witness could actually be the killer.”
“They might be attempting to frame Mervyn,” Tommy said bluntly. “Throwing suspicion off themselves.”
“In which case they have been foolish,” Clara smiled, suddenly feeling better about the case. “They have revealed themselves to us. All we have to do is find out who this witness is and we shall be closer to the killer.”
Maddock looked hugely relieved.
“You think so?” He groaned. “Oh, if that is true then at least all is not lost. You know, I can convince the audience that Donald is really his father. I can pretend that they are actually watching Stanley perform, but I can’t mask the fact that Erikson is not Mervyn Baldry. He is a lot younger for a start.”
“Don’t you think it is slightly duplicitous to fool your paying audience into thinking that Donald is really Stanley?” Clara asked him.
Maddock looked shocked.
“My dear, this is theatre!”
Chapter Sixteen
The arrest of Mervyn Baldry had placed a new spin on the mystery. Clara considered going straight to the police station to try to speak with Mervyn, however she suspected it would be best to allow Park-Coombs time to conduct his own interviews and not barge straight in. Mervyn was going nowhere, after all, and there were plenty of other avenues to explore. She also had a prior engagement she did not wish to cancel. So, once more saying farewell to Tommy as he headed home, Clara set off in the opposite direction.
Her life being somewhat erratic as well as hectic, and Captain O’Harris being similarly busy, the pair had found it convenient to arrange regular times when they would come together and just enjoy each other’s company for a while. Only an emergency would call off one of these rendezvous, and there had yet to be a cancellation. Clara was not about to be the one to break that trend.
She arrived at O’Harris’ large house slightly bedraggled, her umbrella proving inadequate to the increasingly wet and windy weather. Orange leaves were whipping at her legs as she strolled in through the gates, trying to pretend she did not look like something the cat had dragged in.
The captain was stood on the steps of his Home.
“I should have sent the car for you,” He apologised as Clara approached. He hurried down the steps and took her umbrella.
“I look wetter than I really am,” Clara lied.
“I’m very sorry, I could have saved you getting wet at all.”
Clara waved off his remarks.
“You didn’t know where I was to send the car,” Clara reminded him. “Anyway, I just need a warm fire and a towel or two, and I shall be right as rain. Oh…”
Clara laughed at her choice of phrase. O’Harris chuckled too, then guided her into his private sitting room where a warm fire was flickering in the hearth and a teapot was gently warming before it. O’Harris fetched Clara towels himself and then rang the bell to alert the cook that he wanted the cake and crumpets he had requested brought to his room. It felt like an afternoon for sitting by the fire and toasting crumpets.
Clara laid a towel on an armchair near the fire so she would not make it wet and then sat down. She used the other towel to dry her hair, while the warmth from the hearth started to sink into her bones.
“Are you investigating the pantomime case?” O’Harris asked.
“Yes. I was at the theatre before I came here. Park-Coombs arrived and arrested Mervyn Baldry.”
“Baldry?” O’Harris said in stunned amazement. “Buttons?”
“Yes, it was quite a shock. I am not convinced myself, I think the inspector may have jumped the gun and arrested the wrong man.”
“He has been doing that a lot, recently,” O’Harris said darkly.
Clara knew he was referring to the matter of Private Peterson.
“In fairness to the inspector, he has to follow procedure and there is some troubling evidence against Mervyn, even if I think it might be being misinterpreted.”
“Evidence?” O’Harris asked.
“He had a history with Stanley Hutson, was in fact once arrested for seriously assaulting the man, that was many years ago, but it cost him the role he was playing at the time and he left the stage for eight years,” Clara explained. “He fully admits to being the last person to see Hutson alive and Hutson was clutching one of the buttons from Mervyn’s costume when he died. Lastly, someone has come forward and stated they saw Mervyn follow Hutson right before the fateful incident.”
“That does sound quite serious,” O’Harris agreed, reluctantly withdra
wing his earlier snipe against the inspector. He would not forgive Park-Coombs in a hurry for accusing Peterson of murder.
“It depends upon whether you take those strands of evidence at face value or not,” Clara replied thoughtfully. “The assault on Hutson occurred many years ago and was due to Mervyn being addicted to morphine. They were friends before that and I have heard no indications that there was any continuing animosity between them. That Mervyn was the last to see Hutson is hardly surprising, considering he was right behind him as they left the stage for the interval. The button is a mystery. How it got into Hutson’s hand is an open question. The inspector is working on the theory Hutson ripped it from Mervyn’s costume as he died.
“But the piece of evidence I find most troubling, is the witness who says they saw Mervyn with Hutson. Bear in mind, this witness came forward before Mr Maddock had informed his cast that Stanley Hutson was dead. That means the witness somehow knew about the murder before everyone else and that raises the question – how?”
“I see your point. Seems all very strange. An innocent to the crime should not have known anything about the killing, and certainly not have been suspicious of Mervyn Baldry. Aside from us, the only person aware of Hutson’s death was Maddock, yes?”
“And whoever killed Hutson,” Clara pointed out. “And it would be convenient for them if someone else took the blame.”
They were both silent for a while. The cook arrived with crumpets and fresh current buns. She glanced at Clara and tutted over her wet hair. Promising to return shortly with a hot water bottle. O’Harris took up a crumpet and stabbed it onto a toasting fork. He offered the impaled crumpet to Clara and she propped it near the fire to start to crisp. As O’Harris prepared his own crumpet he voiced a thought that had been worrying Clara.
“Park-Coombs is not a stupid man, far from it. So why would he be so quick to make this arrest when the evidence is somewhat suspect? He would surely know that this witness was questionable, considering the circumstances?”