‘I don’t know.’ Mark’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘I think I went down to the basement and was in the props room when I heard footsteps on the stairs.’
‘What were you doing in the props room? We didn’t need any other props. You must’ve known that.’
Mark gave Walter a vacant stare and was unable to answer. ‘What were you doing in the props room?’ Walter repeated, his voice rising in angry frustration.
Mark frowned and his huge frame became rigid as if resenting being cross-examined. ‘What does one usually do in a props room?’ he said. ‘I must have been looking for something. That’s it, I was looking for something.’
‘Let’s get this straight,’ Walter said, shaking his head. ‘What were you looking for?’ He turned to Giles. ‘This is like trying to get blood out of a stone.’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Mark, alert now and waving his arms in excitement. ‘Now I remember. It was when you mentioned the blood.’
‘What are you drivelling on about?’
‘I was looking for a gun. That was it,’ said Mark, ‘I thought there might be a gun down there. A gun that fired real bullets.’ His speech started to speed up as if he wanted to get things off his chest. ‘I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see who was coming. That was it.’
There was a lengthy pause as Walter waited to hear the rest that didn’t seem to be forthcoming. ‘And who was coming?’ he urged with barely restrained impatience.
‘It was my nephew – the one playing Cyril. The one who was shot and disappeared.’ Mark shuddered and grimaced. ‘He looked ghastly,’ he said. ‘Not just ghastly but ghostly. His face was pale and he was holding out an arm to me. An arm drenched in blood. I felt sick and thought I was going to faint. My eyes closed and…’
‘And what?’ said Walter.
‘When I opened them again no one was there. I didn’t imagine it. I’m sure I didn’t.’ Mark looked at everyone, appeal in his eyes. ‘But… what is happening to me?’
‘There is nothing happening to you, Mark,’ said Giles, who was listening to every word. ‘You must try not to make mountains out of molehills. That will only make matters worse. You’re hypersensitive Mark. Try to relax. The best thing to do is make sure you’re never left alone in the theatre. If you always have company you’ll stop experiencing anything that causes you to think that the Mummy’s Curse is rearing its ugly head again.’
‘But you haven’t explained why you were looking for a gun that fired real bullets,’ said Walter intervening. ‘For goodness sake Mark, if someone had fired a real gun at Cyril that gun wouldn’t be left in the props room. It would have been taken away and hidden by whoever fired the gun. And we don’t know who that was, do we?’
‘Not yet,’ said Giles, ‘but we will find out. I promise you.’
‘I still believe you’ve been hallucinating,’ said Walter. ‘Mind over matter. You really have to get things out of your head and start focussing on this play of ours. There’s nothing to be gained in looking on the black side. We don’t yet know if it was Cyril who was being aimed at or whether it was his twin brother who was meant to be the victim.’
‘Or it might not have been either,’ Giles said, his face expressionless.
‘What are you hinting at?’ said Freddie, joining in the conversation. ‘Only Cyril and Dicky were in the line of fire. That is if you agree about the likely path of a bullet.’
‘Not true,’ Giles said, tilting his jaw to one side.
‘But there were only the two boys in the direct line of a trajectory if the hole I found in the theatre wall was made by a bullet,’ Freddie emphasised.
‘You’ve forgotten the person who was also in the line of fire,’ said Giles. ‘The girl who also had a gun. The girl who was playing Cindy.’
‘Do you honestly think someone was trying to shoot Cindy?’
‘Did I hear someone mention my stage name?’ said Marlene, ‘I hope it was nothing I’d take offence at.’
‘Not at all, Freddie was asking if I thought someone might have tried to shoot Cindy,’ said Giles. ‘Why not? If she had been shot she wouldn’t have been able to fire her own gun and that might have been the intention. But don’t ask me why.’
‘But didn’t Laura say there was nobody in the wing when she heard the shot?’
‘That’s right,’ said Laura. ‘But the more I think about it the more I realise that one of the curtains hanging on that side could have concealed a person prepared to fire a gun.’
‘That’s all very well,’ said Freddie, pursuing the matter. ‘But everyone was accounted for apart from Grizelda, the Brigadier and the Fairy Godmother. All the others, including ourselves, were either in full view on the stage or sitting in the front row of the auditorium. Does that mean that either Grizelda, the Brigadier or the Fairy Godmother could have fired the shot?’
‘Well,’ said Giles. ‘Everyone must be considered as a potential suspect. That is a plain fact. But do remember what I said before. The truth is often staring you in the face, yet we often tend to ignore it. It’s as simple as that.’
‘And,’ said Freddie, with a grin and looking very pleased with himself. ‘Wasn’t it the fictional detective of Conan Doyle who remarked something about eliminating everything that was impossible, then whatever remained, however improbable, must be the truth?’
‘True,’ said Giles. ‘But Holmes was a figment of Doyle’s literary imagination and he could say whatever came into the author’s head.’
‘Now, now,’ said Laura as she butted in, ‘your very own enjoyable fictional detective of the Dickson Carr novels had, more or less, similar theories. Had he not?’
‘Ah yes,’ said Giles, acknowledging Laura’s train of thought. ‘The great Dr Fell. I almost forgot about him. I wonder what he would have made of this very extraordinary case.’ He paused pensively as if his brain was trying to analyse each word he might say. ‘I suppose he would have come up with some cunning plot that would’ve left readers wondering how such a devious and intricate execution of a murder victim could possibly be solved.’
‘Hang on a bit,’ said Freddie. ‘What you say is probably true, but remember we don’t have a murder victim.’
‘Not yet,’ Giles said, shaking his head and pursing his lips. ‘Not yet!’
‘Do you think it might come to that, Giles?’ Laura asked, her voice registering concern.
‘I hate to say this,’ said Giles, ‘but I have a strange premonition that what has happened already seems to suggest that a murder is about to take place. Who the victim could possibly be remains a mystery but there’s an uncanny feel about the strange events that there must be an end in mind and that end can only be one of murder.’ He paused once more. ‘I can’t help feeling in my bones that there could be more than one murder and that I may be inescapably involved in that fateful event.’
‘I’ve never known you to be so gloomy, Giles,’ said Freddie. ‘In all the years I’ve known you since our time in the RAF it has never occurred to me that you could look into the future with such gloom and doom. Even when confronted with those elusive problems in those cases about the three lies and the unexplainable happenings in the circus you were always convinced you were ahead of the game and sure to come up trumps.’
‘This frightens me,’ said Laura. ‘I know I keep saying that, but I’m terribly sorry to have involved you in this wretched play. I wish we could pull out now. Couldn’t we?’
‘My dear Laura, I must admit that being asked to conjure up some magical illusions for a stage play like this was an offer I couldn’t refuse. If I live to regret it I may have to change my mind and accept the consequences but I can’t see how you need to fear anything. You must be the last person that could anticipate personal disaster. You’re in no way responsible.’
‘It wasn’t myself I was thinking about,’ Laura admitted with some reluctance as she glanced at Giles and wiped a tear from her eye. ‘It is you Giles that I fear for. If you are forced to get involved
in all this you could be in serious danger. That doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Giles tried to console his fiancée by clasping her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Then, with an instant change of attitude, Giles clearly came to a decision. He let go Laura’s hand and smacked both of his together making an explosive sound like that of a gun shot. ‘We must keep our wits about us,’ he said, ‘and try to analyse every little detail that happens whether it’s relevant or not. Nothing is going to stay as it is. That won’t happen unless…?’ He paused and cleared his throat again. ‘Unless…?’ he repeated. ‘It is meant to stay that way.’ Giles stayed silent for a moment before he continued. ‘However I think we should prepare ourselves for further developments. Dramatic developments.’
He’d hardly got the words out of his mouth when there was a shout from Cindy as she returned to the Green Room. ‘I’ve found him,’ she yelled. ‘Cyril. I’ve found him and he’s resting in the dressing room. That’s where I found him. Come quickly.’
A gasp of relief rose from everyone’s throat. Giles took the opportunity of scrutinising the responses. Freddie threw him a look acknowledging his previous deductions were correct. ‘We might now be able to find the exact nature of his injury and perhaps make some conclusions about what’s going on though I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Giles said as he, Laura and Freddie followed Cindy to the dressing room.
Giles couldn’t help but focus his eyes on Freddie and Laura giving them both a wink as if to say – I told you so.
Cyril was sitting in a chair. His left arm was limp and his right hand held a cup of tea presumably given to him by the leading lady Cindy.
‘So the walking wounded has returned,’ said Giles. ‘Given time you might be able to explain to all of us exactly how you were shot and where you’ve been while we and the police spent hours looking for you?’
Cyril looked up and nodded, giving a wince of pain. He handed Cindy his cup and placed his right hand on the upper left area of his chest below his collar bone where there appeared to be extensive strapping. He closed his eyes momentarily. ‘Give me a moment,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘I seem to have had a very lucky escape.’ His breath came in short sharp gasps.
‘Cyril, I’m sorry, but it’s imperative you give us what information you can,’ said Giles. ‘Try and tell us what happened when you were rehearsing the scene and challenging Cindy when she threatened to shoot you. ‘Can you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember saying my lines and I was prepared for the gun to appear in Cindy’s hand. In all the rehearsals I never could make out how she managed to produce the gun. It always seemed to appear by magic. When I saw it in Cindy’s hand I knew the time had come for the shot to be fired and for me to drop dead. I think I heard the shot but I can’t be sure about that. It was the stabbing pain in my shoulder that I felt and everything went black. I simply blacked out and knew nothing until I opened my eyes. Sacking of some sort stifled me, but I seemed unable to speak. All I wanted to do was get out of there and get help.’ Cyril stopped talking and Cindy gave him back the cup of tea. ‘A gun was on the floor. The pain in my shoulder was excruciating. Nothing was right, Where was I? In the rehearsals Dicky was supposed to be kneeling beside me. Why wasn’t he there? The stage was empty. Blood spurted from my shoulder when I moved.’ Cyril winced. ‘All I wanted to do was find a place to lie down and rest. I couldn’t find anyone.’ He started to ramble. His words slurred. The tea spilled from his trembling hand.
Dicky steadied the cup and urged his brother to sip more tea. Cyril drank eagerly, droplets falling from his mouth wetting his shirt. ‘I suppose I slept,’ he said. ‘Although I’m sure I must have moved to a few different areas. In the morning I went to where I heard voices but no one was there. I began to wonder if I was hearing real voices or if I was experiencing the ghostly effects this theatre is renowned for. I was cold and sore and needed some medical attention and I thought if I could leave the theatre and get to the local hospital I would get some help. The more I moved the more I bled. I must have been shot. I needed to get out quickly.’
‘Did you know the police had been brought in?’ Giles asked.
‘No. I knew that if the stage door keeper knew I’d been shot then the police would be brought in. I didn’t want that and I didn’t want a hospital to know that I’d been shot either.’
‘Why?’ asked Giles. ‘Why was that so important? And why the subterfuge?’
‘I’m not sure. Confused I think.’ Cyril looked appealingly at Giles. ‘Sorry. Must have panicked.’
‘How did you leave the theatre?’ said Giles. ‘We now know that it was you who must’ve left even though the door keeper thought it was Dicky who left saying he was unwell. The door keeper believed it was your brother because the person was dressed exactly as you are now – in the same gear as Dicky. He stated he was sure it was Dicky even though when he was spoken to it was not quite the way he’d normally be spoken to by Dicky. It was you, Cyril. Wasn’t it? Why the disguise Cyril? Why?’
‘Don’t bully me Giles. I don’t know. I really wasn’t in my right mind.’ With a slight turn of the head he glanced at his brother.
‘Very astute and very convenient all the same. But what excuse did you give at the hospital? I’m sure you didn’t tell them you’d cut yourself shaving.’
‘I knew they wouldn’t believe that,’ Cyril answered. ‘I just explained that I’d tripped and fallen on to a spiked railing. They said I was very lucky as the spike had gone between my left arm and my chest piercing my arm, chest and armpit. They patched me up and gave me an anti-tetanus injection and said I should be able to continue when I felt able. As an ardent thespian I have to say the show must go on.’
Giles made a mental note of that last statement as he made eye to eye contact with the injured twin. Cyril never blinked. ‘The best thing to do now,’ went on Giles, ‘is get you to the Green Room where you can have a rest and when we’re there I want to speak to the entire cast and the playwrights. I have something very important to say before we do any more. But first I must report your reappearance to the D S and call off the hunt.’
Cindy and Dicky helped Cyril to his feet and escorted him from the dressing room while Giles followed them to the Green Room. Giles could not help but wonder if those final words by Cyril might have another connotation. The Show Must Go On.
Chapter 17
THE BEST AUTHORS ARE DEAD AUTHORS
The Green Room was abuzz with a muffled sound as the cast of The Cinderella Murders surrounded Cyril welcoming him on his return.
Giles let the noise subside before he stepped in to make his announcement. ‘I have something very important to say to you all,’ he said, clearing his throat once more. ‘When the Detective Sergeant was here he made it clear that he wanted me to report any development. In order to do that I have to remove my magical hat and don my detective one.’ He looked around at the attentive faces who were watching him with more than a little anxiety. ‘I haven’t the slightest doubt that someone in this room fired the gun that resulted with Cyril giving his best performance as a murder victim.’ There was a gasp from someone followed by a titter. ‘I intend to find out who fired that gun but as it didn’t result in murder the police are not yet involved. We don’t even know if the shooting was attempted murder and until we can come up with all the answers we must investigate without the expertise of the local police. That simply means that I will be doing the detective work and you can continue rehearsing until the Guild of Players claim their theatre back to start work on their season of plays.’
‘How long do we still have in this building before we have to call it a day?’ asked the Brigadier.
‘Two or three more days at the most,’ said Giles. ‘And that brings me to the point. This building as the Brigadier calls it is quite unique. It has had a chequered past and I’m sure it will enjoy a glorious future. But it also has a history of unusual ghostly experiences. I was curious to know what the dictionary definition of the
word ghost was. This is what I came up with. The disembodied spirit of a dead person, supposed to haunt the living as a pale or shadowy vision.’ He glanced once more at the worried faces of the onlookers to see if anyone was reacting but noticed nothing untoward.
‘This wonderful theatre,’ Giles said, ‘may well have its ghosts but those ghosts are likely to be the disembodied spirits of actors who graced the stage of this theatre and who loved their work here. In other words they are likely to be friendly ghosts and therefore ghosts we should not be afraid of. Any other apparition must be the result of something that is deliberately being contrived for the specific purpose of an evil deed. Such apparitions can only be devised by a living person…’ Giles paused briefly letting his words sink in. ‘… A person or persons unknown, listening to me at this moment.’
‘Our play,’ shouted Walter. ‘What about our play?’
Giles glared at him. ‘There is nothing to prevent you getting on with rehearsals if you so wish.’
‘Well,’ snapped Walter, without waiting for any agreement from the cast. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
Watching the group leaving the Green Room to go upstairs to the stage Giles was certain that one of them had fired that gun and although he had paid attention to their reactions, as he made his accusations, he hadn’t detected any significant change in any particular person. He knew there was much work to be done if the situation worsened and ended in murder as he feared.
‘What did you make of all that?’ said Giles, turning to Laura and Freddie.
‘They were not too happy when you made the accusation that someone in the cast had fired the gun,’ said Freddie. ‘Though there was at least one person who reacted by gasping, but I couldn’t make out who it was. On the other hand there was quite a bit of interest in your spiel about the definition of ghost but I have to say that I don’t think they all believed that the ghosts in this theatre are friendly ones.’ Freddie laughed quietly at the thought.
‘I really don’t think this is anything to laugh about,’ said Laura, whose colour had drained from her cheeks. ‘I’m scared! Not about the ghosts…’ she paused and bit her lip. ‘But I’m scared to death that this is heading for a sinister and frightening conclusion.’
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