‘Weren’t you apprehensive about going alone? The bazaar is a busy place and can be intimidating if you’re unused to the way of things here. Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a servant or at least take one with you?’
Her thin lips curved in a wintry smile. ‘Your concern is very gallant, Inspector, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
He was sure she was. That look would freeze most ill-intentioned people in their tracks. He was reminded of the doughty Victorian ladies Jane liked to tell him about who had crossed mountains or penetrated jungles and deserts, armed with little more than a sturdy umbrella and a sharp tongue.
Kathleen Danforth intervened. ‘Olive never trusts anyone to do a job properly.’ She smiled. ‘Even myself. Isn’t that right, Olive?’
The blandishment failed to soften the maid’s demeanour but her mistress continued to smile, clearly used to her ways. ‘If you have no more questions for either of us, Inspector, I’m sure Olive has work to do, and I hope you will forgive me but I am a little tired.’
He had been dismissed, albeit charmingly. Clutterbuck got to his feet. ‘In these sad circumstances, you’ve been very generous with your time, dear lady. I think we have all we need.’ He turned brusquely to de Silva. ‘Come along, Inspector. Time we were leaving.’
Chapter 13
‘I was ticked off as if I were that dog of his being shooed off the sofa.’
‘I’m sure you’re being oversensitive, Shanti. Have another scone and you’ll feel better.’
‘Perhaps,’ he grumbled, putting one on his plate and spreading it savagely with wood apple jam. ‘But Archie would do well to remember I have two legs not four.’
‘He probably didn’t mean to offend you. From what you say, he’s a little in awe of this Mrs Danforth. One wouldn’t think that anyone could have that effect on him when he’s been married to Florence for so long, but Mrs Danforth is very beautiful. Perhaps Archie’s the sort of man who finds that discombobulating.’
‘Discombobu… what?’
‘Confusing.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘English is a never-ending mystery to me. So many words for the same thing. I think you are the one who likes to confuse.’
Jane laughed. ‘Let’s get back to Mrs Danforth. How did she behave?’
‘She was charming, and apparently deeply saddened by her husband’s death. I sensed that was genuine.’
Jane frowned as she poured them both another cup of tea. ‘But you say Bert Raikes told you that she wasn’t exactly a model wife.’
‘True, but she insists that none of the men she took up with really mattered to her. More importantly, Emerald Watson came out with a big revelation.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s Alexander Danforth’s daughter.’
‘Gracious! That’s a surprise. But why take so long to tell people?’
He started to explain what he’d learnt. When he’d finished, Jane nodded. ‘I agree Kathleen Danforth’s reaction doesn’t seem to be that of a rational person, but people often behave in strange ways. She’s obviously proud, and her lack of children is a sensitive spot. I expect you’re right about her not liking to be reminded she’s no longer young too, but one can’t help wondering how long Alexander Danforth would have let the situation go on. Sooner or later, he was bound to have realised people were making objectionable assumptions about his daughter.’
‘Quite.’
‘So, what do we have?’
‘Very little,’ de Silva said glumly. ‘None of my interviews have produced any hard evidence for me to go on, and the speculation about Kathleen Danforth’s and Paul Mayne’s guilt now rests on very shaky foundations. I’m pretty much back to where I started.’
‘It’s hard to see why Emerald would want to kill the father she was prepared to leave her old life behind for,’ mused Jane.
He reached for the bowl of cream on the table and added a dollop to his scone. ‘But I suppose there could be a sinister reason for her coming to Ceylon to be with him. Revenge for her mother’s death, or unhappiness in her own childhood perhaps.’
‘Somehow I doubt it,’ said Jane. ‘From what you’ve told me, she doesn’t appear to hold her father responsible for her mother’s death, and even though she grew up without her parents, where’s the evidence she had an unhappy childhood? According to Peggy Appleby, before the tragedy, she seemed a happy, well-adjusted girl.’
‘That’s certainly how she appeared to me on the brief occasion that I met her.’
‘Do you suppose there’s a way of finding out more about the men in the company?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Difficult. There might be some information on record for Raikes and Sheridan when they were in the army, but it was wartime so I don’t expect it would be easy to find. Anyway, it was twenty years ago. We’re unlikely to turn up anything particularly illuminating. As for the others, I wouldn’t know where to begin.’
‘How about the maid?’
‘Ah yes, Miss Reilly. A ferocious lady who reminds me of Mrs Danvers in that novel Rebecca you enjoy.’
‘Like Kathleen Danforth, she was already in the correct part of the theatre.’
‘That’s true.’
He scratched his head. ‘But she has no obvious motive, and she’s not been with the company for long either. Anyway, how would she leave her room without Kathleen Danforth noticing her do it? Mrs Danforth said she was reading and writing letters.’
Jane sighed. ‘How tiresome that we have so little to go on. Perhaps the way to approach the problem is to find out if any of the men could have got to the dressing room from the other side without being spotted.’
‘Opportunity being our proof and the motive following on that?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. Unless the caretaker’s lying and I don’t have very good reports of his character so we shouldn’t entirely discount that possibility, it seems to me that the murderer’s safest route would have been from the cellar where the stage trap machinery is. Once down there, they could have climbed up on stage via the trap and then made off to Danforth’s dressing room via the wings. They would have needed to be careful not to make a lot of noise, but I noticed that the stage curtain was closed that night.’
He paused.
‘Go on,’ said Jane.
‘Presumably it was going to be opened at the start of the dress rehearsal so that it was just like the real performance, but of course, they never got that far. Therefore, anyone on stage wouldn’t have been visible from the auditorium. The caretaker said one person could operate the stage trap machine even though it would be more dangerous. Now that we think Kathleen Danforth and Paul Mayne are unlikely to be conspirators, we need to work out if someone in the company might have been in league with the murderer rather than actually committing the crime.’
‘That’s a new angle. Carry on.’
‘The cellar route would involve stealing the key to the yard that you have go through to get to the cellar without the caretaker noticing it was gone, or at least removing it for long enough to have a spare one cut in town.’
‘Are you saying that the thief was a company member who gave the key to the murderer so he, or she, could reach the cellar?’
‘Yes; after that, their job would be done.’
‘Are there no ways a member of the cast could have got out of the theatre without the caretaker seeing them?’
‘I don’t think so. There are front doors, of course, and a side door from the foyer, but how would they get to them from the right hand dressing rooms unobserved? It has to be someone from the outside.’
Jane looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Why couldn’t it be the front or side door keys that the inside accomplice took?’
‘Of course, it might be one of those, but the route would involve more time in the open, so a greater risk of being seen. Unless there’s another way that I haven’t discovered, I think the most likely scenario is that the murderer was not
one of the company, but he was helped by someone who was. That person got them the yard key, and the route was the stage trap.’
‘If someone was able to use the trap to get onto the stage, do you think they’d have to leave by the wings to reach the corridor where Danforth’s dressing room is?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why couldn’t a member of the company just walk onstage through the wings on the other side and go across? Why must the murderer be from outside, and is the cellar relevant at all?’
‘That wouldn’t work.’
Jane frowned. ‘This all seems very complicated.’
‘I agree nothing’s straightforward. The theatre’s like a rabbit warren.’
‘How about drawing a plan? It might help.’
She went over to her writing desk and came back with a pencil and a pad of paper. De Silva smiled. ‘No time like the present, eh?’
Jane watched as he began to sketch.
‘I won’t bother with the front of house,’ he said. ‘But here’s the lobby and the corridors leading off it.’
He drew some more lines. ‘This is the stage and these are the wings. The caretaker’s booth is here in the lobby.’ He paused and pointed with the pencil. ‘Do you see? The way the booth is angled means that although someone could slip in or out of the wings near the left-hand corridor without being noticed, it wouldn’t be possible on the other side.’
‘Yes, I see. What a pity, I thought my idea might help.’
‘Unfortunately not. Anyway, I’ll get Prasanna or Nadar onto making enquiries about the key. They may as well take the scissors too and see if anyone in town remembers selling them, although I doubt the murderer risked buying them in Nuala.’
He frowned. ‘I did see Kathleen Danforth’s maid coming away from the bazaar one day, but when I asked her about it, she said she’d been to buy some thread for one of Kathleen Danforth’s dresses.’
‘Do you believe that?’
He considered a moment. ‘I think I do. She’s a distinctive-looking woman. If she was up to no good, I suspect she would have adopted some kind of disguise.’
He bit into his scone. ‘Mm, delicious.’
‘What about Bert Raikes?’ Jane asked. ‘You told me you noticed grazes on his hands. Could he have got them removing rubble from those passages to the cellar you told me about? Or even climbing down from the window overlooking the yard?’
‘I doubt it very much. I’m inclined to believe he was telling the truth when he said he got them from working on scenery. The grazes weren’t all that serious and, even if it was feasible, which I doubt very much, moving that rubble would have cut anyone’s hands to pieces. As for the window, you’d have to be a human fly to climb down that wall and Bert’s not a young man.’
‘We’re still left with the puzzle of the man who was seen loitering outside the theatre,’ said Jane. ‘Who knows, it might have been Doctor Hebden hoping for a chance meeting with Miss Watson, but are you going to tackle Archie again? You know, the Irish angle. There has to a reason why someone from outside the company wanted Danforth dead.’
‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.’ He finished the scone and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘By the way, talking of Prasanna, he’s been behaving oddly for the last few days. Do you know anything about that?’
Jane frowned. Like de Silva, she had become very fond of Prasanna’s wife Kuveni when she lived with them for a short time before her marriage. ‘I hope nothing’s the matter at home. I’ll make an excuse to call and see what I can find out.’
‘Good.’
He stood up. ‘I’m going to take a stroll round the garden. The gardener was supposed to be mending those holes in the fruit cage and I want to make sure he’s done the job properly.’
Jane picked up the small brass bell at her elbow and rang for one of the servants to clear the tea things. ‘I think I’ll stay here and read for a while. My book’s due back to the library tomorrow.’
He peered at the cover which showed a beautiful woman in a very becoming riding habit cantering side-saddle beside a dashing man who wore equally elegant riding clothes and a top hat. ‘It doesn’t look like your usual fare. Any good?’
‘Not bad. It’s a Regency romance. I like a change from mysteries occasionally.’
As he crossed the lawn and headed for the kitchen garden, de Silva wished he could have a change from the mystery he had been presented with. It seemed impenetrable.
At least the broken poles on the fruit cage had been replaced satisfactorily and the black netting was neatly fastened back in place. Jane liked to have the summer fruits she had been used to in England, so the raspberries and strawberries were grown to please her. The raspberries were nearly ready for picking, ruby-red droplets loading the spiny green canes. From the rows of low plants in front of them, he smelt the sweet aroma of strawberries warmed by the day’s sunshine.
The ruby-red reminded him of the words written on the mirror in Danforth’s blood: the rest is silence.
Who was so eaten up by the desire for revenge that he was prepared to kill to get it? Or was that a red herring? Were the British really behind Danforth’s death?
Chapter 14
Shortly after de Silva arrived at the police station the following morning, the telephone rang in his office. It was Nadar’s voice at the other end of the line.
‘I have a call for you from Colombo, sir.’
‘Put them through.’
He sat back, expecting it to be from the pathology lab about the autopsy. The jovial, booming voice that greeted him was, however, as unexpected as it was welcome: his old acquaintance, Henry Van Bruyn.
‘Dr Van Bruyn! It’s a pleasure to hear from you.’
‘Likewise. I fear it’s been far too long since I’ve managed to get up to the hill country. My wife constantly tells me I should retire, and she’s probably right. I’m an old workhorse who ought to have been put out to grass years ago. But my patients seem to think differently.’
De Silva smiled to himself. Even though he was well into his sixties, no doubt Van Bruyn’s status as one of the most fashionable medical men in Colombo allowed him to command high enough fees to pacify Mrs Van Bruyn.
‘Still, it does a man good to keep busy. Mrs Van Bruyn would probably be complaining within a week that I was under her feet.’ The doctor’s genial laugh rumbled down the line. ‘Now, to the reason I called.’
‘I’ll be glad to be of assistance if I can.’
‘I’m sure, but it’s more a matter of the help I may be able to give you concerning this murder inquiry you have on your hands.’
De Silva’s ears pricked up. How did Van Bruyn know about the Danforth case?
‘I played a round of golf with the Chief Pathologist on Sunday. He mentioned that this actor fellow Danforth was found murdered in Nuala and his department are doing an autopsy. I’d rather be on the golf course than in the theatre but the name was familiar. I’ve been operating full tilt for the last couple of days but I got my secretary to check my appointment records. Danforth’s wife came to see me a few weeks ago, shortly before she left for Nuala.’
‘That’s interesting. Are you able to tell me more?’
‘Not officially, and I’d be obliged if you’d keep it under your hat, but my golf partner mentioned there was a question of drugs being present in the body. I thought it might be useful for you to know that Kathleen Danforth consulted me about her insomnia shortly after she arrived in Colombo. I prescribed Medinal, or as the Americans call it, Veronal, a barbiturate that I resort to with considerable caution, but she assured me she’d taken it before on the advice of her doctor in England.’
De Silva’s mind raced. He had come across the drug before. Used carelessly, or with evil intent, it could result in a fatal overdose. It had a slightly bitter taste and was normally taken in the form of cachets, tiny wafers or capsules made from flour. They had to be wetted before swallowing. It would have been impossible for Danforth to be unaw
are he was taking one, but suppose someone broke open a capsule and used just a few grains of the powder inside? Would it be undetectable in a strongly flavoured drink? He racked his brains but couldn’t remember whether this was one of the drugs that could be detected in an autopsy.
‘Even in small amounts, it leaves traces in the body,’ Van Bruyn said in answer to the question. ‘But identifying which particular barbiturate has been ingested can be more difficult. There are several forms and in many cases, their melting points are very similar.’
‘What would be a normal dose?’
‘Ten to fifteen grains, depending on body weight – less than a gram. That would be enough to ensure a good night’s sleep.’
‘And a fatal dose?’
‘Between three and a half and four and a half grams, depending on body weight.’
‘Would those amounts show up in an autopsy?’
‘A high dose certainly. I’m not sure about a minor one.’
‘Is it possible that someone might be put into an induced sleep for a short time by being given a small amount?’
‘I’m not an expert in toxicology but I believe it might be. You would need a reasonable knowledge of how a patient reacted though. As with a fatal dose, the effect is not instantaneous, sometimes a few hours elapse, and the amount would need to be carefully calculated.’
‘Thank you, that’s very useful information.’
‘Glad to have been of help. I must be getting along now. Patients to see. Give my regards to your wife.’
‘And to Mrs Van Bruyn.’
There was a click at the end of the line. De Silva reached for his pen and made a few notes then he sat back in his chair, lost in thought. If Medinal had been administered to Danforth, it wasn’t necessarily the case that the person responsible was his wife. But then someone else would have needed to know where to find it. He hadn’t seen any capsules or pills in Kathleen Danforth’s dressing room. Maybe she had them with her in her suite at the hotel but searching that would be difficult at the moment. Now that he had an idea of what he was looking for, however, it was worth paying another visit to the theatre.
Offstage in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 3) Page 12