EQMM, August 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The Memorial Theatre commanded a fine view of the river. Opened six years earlier, it was a big, solid, unimposing structure. The Americans were very disappointed. Having walked along streets that were filled with half-timbered Tudor houses and dripping with character, they found the stark modernity of the theatre rather incongruous. Mary Anne turned to her husband.

  "Why didn't they build it like an Elizabethan theatre?"

  "I guess they had their reasons, honey,” said Cyrus.

  "It's such a letdown. The architect missed a golden opportunity. He should have designed it like the Globe playhouse."

  "The architect was a woman—Elizabeth Scott."

  "Then she should have known better,” said Mary Anne.

  "Let's not condemn it on its exterior,” he suggested. “That would be unfair. The only way to judge a theatre properly is to watch a play being performed there. Come on."

  They joined the throng that was converging on the building. The Memorial Theatre could accommodate thirteen hundred people and it seemed as if every one of them was in the lobby. It was so congested that Cyrus and his wife had difficulty getting in. Over the heads of the crowd, he saw a counter where programs were being sold.

  "Stay here, honey,” he advised. “I won't be long."

  "I'm not going anywhere,” she said. “I can't move."

  Cyrus forced a way through the press with polite firmness and joined the queue at the counter. A familiar face materialized beside him. Rosalind Walker gave him a warm smile.

  "How nice to see you again!” she said.

  "Hello, Rosalind. Is it always as crowded as this?"

  "One gets used to it."

  "The lobby should have been bigger."

  "That's only one of its defects. The seats could be more comfortable, the upper balcony is too far from the stage, and—forgive my being indelicate—the ladies’ cloakroom is woefully inadequate for this number of people."

  "It's the stage that worries me. Proscenium arch, I'm told. Poor old Will wouldn't even know what that was. Why not try to re-create the performance conditions of his time?"

  "A good question.” After chatting for a couple of minutes, they got to the counter and bought their programs. Rosalind looked around. “Where's your wife?"

  "Over by the door,” said Cyrus. “If I can get back to her."

  "Tony is out on the terrace, enjoying a cigarette."

  "Wise man. Best place to be."

  "I'm sure that he'd like to meet you. In the interval, perhaps."

  "Yes. That would be nice."

  "Where are you sitting?"

  "Front stalls."

  "We're at the back,” she said easily. “And don't worry about the hordes. A lot of these people have actually got tickets to the balcony so they won't be down here in the interval. People in the stalls usually make a beeline for the bar.” She moved away. “Enjoy the play."

  "Oh, I will,” he promised her. “Every moment of it."

  * * * *

  Mildred Conroy was a full-bodied woman in her early sixties with a romantic streak. She always took a particular pleasure in selling engagement and wedding rings. When the couple entered her jewelry shop that afternoon, she sensed the distinct possibility of a sale. The young man was clearly a person of means and the two of them were evidently in love. The woman was darting affectionate glances at him and he kept his arm around her waist.

  "Can I help you?” asked Mildred with professional sweetness.

  "We'd like to look at some engagement rings,” said the man.

  "Of course, sir. Does the young lady have any preference?"

  "Well, I rather hope it's for me, actually."

  "Oh, David!” scolded his companion as he burst out laughing at his own joke. “That's not what we were being asked and you know it.” She turned an apologetic smile on Mildred. “Do excuse him. Perhaps we could look at some of those in the window?"

  "Of course."

  Mildred unlocked the glass doors and lifted out a display unit that held a dozen diamond engagement rings. The woman gazed at them with fascination and began to examine each in turn. When she asked for the respective prices, the man did not blench at the high cost. Mildred was encouraged. She was both furthering their romance and doing good business at the same time. While the woman was full of questions about the various stones, the man simply looked on. He was there to pay. All that he wanted was for her to be happy.

  "While we're here,” said the woman, “we may as well see them all. Could I trouble you to get the others out of the window as well?"

  "Of course,” replied Mildred. “Look at the full range."

  "They're so beautiful!"

  "Just like you,” said the man into her ear.

  Mildred heard the surreptitious whisper and smiled. They seemed such a happy couple. There were three more trays of rings in the window and she had to stretch in order to retrieve them. It took her a little while before all four displays were side by side on the counter. Some of them could be discounted immediately, but the woman did pick out a sapphire ring to try on. After flexing her hand, she showed the ring to the man.

  "Is that the one, darling?” he asked.

  "I'm not sure.” She selected a ring from the first display. “The diamond was my favorite at first but the sapphire is so gorgeous.” She smiled at Mildred. “Might I ask how much it is?"

  "Money doesn't come into this, Venetia,” he said.

  "I'm interested to know."

  "They're virtually the same price,” said Mildred. “They're also two of the best rings in the shop. I congratulate you on your taste."

  "Venetia has excellent taste,” boasted the man. “That's why she chose me—isn't it, darling?"

  But the young woman was too preoccupied with comparing the rings, holding them side by side, then removing one so that she could try on the other. She slipped it off her finger and gave it to Mildred.

  "It's between these two,” she decided.

  "Toss a coin,” suggested the man blithely.

  "David!"

  "Well, we can't take all day."

  "I'd like to think it over. What time do you close?"

  "Not until five-thirty, madam,” said Mildred.

  "Oh, we'll be back long before then. David and I will pop into that Tea Shoppe just up the street. By the time we come out, I'll have decided between diamond and sapphire.” She became anxious. “You won't sell either of the rings while we're away, will you?"

  Mildred shook her head. “No, madam. I'll put them aside."

  "Thank you."

  After a last look at both rings, they gave her a nod of farewell and left the shop. Mildred put the rings into a small box and unlocked a drawer under the counter. When the box was out of the way, she began to replace the trays in the front window, taking care not to nudge any of the other items on display. The last tray was the one that she had first taken out. As she picked it up, Mildred glanced at it. Her blood froze. Shorn of its most expensive ring, it still contained eleven others but it was not the number that startled her.

  It was the fact that several of the rings were not the ones that had been there earlier. They had been replaced with rings that were similar in appearance but of a much lower value. Mildred had been tricked. While she was reaching into the window, the switch had been made. Her romantic streak had been a fatal distraction. She had just been robbed in broad daylight.

  * * * *

  Cyrus Hillier had been enraptured by the performance of Troilus and Cressida and Mary Anne had been overwhelmed by the quality of the acting. When the interval came, they were in something of a daze as they made their way up the aisle towards the lobby.

  "It's wonderful!” said Cyrus. “A definitive production."

  "But not as good as yours,” countered Mary Anne loyally.

  "I only had amateur actors. These are real professionals."

  "I still preferred your version, Cyrus."

  "Thanks, honey."

  As they came into the lobby
, a young man bore down on them.

  "Professor and Mrs. Hillier?” he asked.

  "That's us,” admitted Cyrus.

  "Anthony Walker,” said the other, offering his hand. “I believe that you've met my sister, Rosalind."

  "We have indeed, young sir."

  Handshakes were exchanged, then they moved to a corner where they could discuss the play. Anthony explained that his sister had rushed off to the ladies’ cloakroom before the general invasion. He shared their enthusiasm for the production though he had severe doubts about the play itself.

  "Not the jolliest piece that Shakespeare wrote, is it?"

  "It does have its comic moments,” argued Cyrus. “There was a lot of humor in that scene with Ajax and Thersites."

  "But it's still a rather pessimistic play."

  "Pessimistic or realistic?"

  "Ah, well,” said Tony with a grin. “That's a matter of opinion."

  "Wait until you've seen the whole play."

  "I will, Professor."

  Rosalind soon joined them and they had an amicable debate about the theatre itself, all agreeing that it had its shortcomings. It seemed only minutes before the warning bell sounded to mark the end of the interval. Rosalind was saddened.

  "We'll have to say goodbye now,” she said, “because Tony and I have to dash off the moment the performance is over."

  "I thought you were staying at a hotel,” said Mary Anne.

  "We usually do and we'd have loved to have stayed on so that we could watch The Merchant of Venice this evening. But we have to be on the Shakespeare Express at five-thirty."

  "What a pity!"

  "Needs must when the devil drives,” said Tony, shaking their hands in turn once more. “But it was a delight to meet you both and I hope that you enjoy the rest of your stay in England."

  "Thank you,” said Mary Anne. “And goodbye."

  After a flurry of farewells, they went into the auditorium. Cyrus and Mary Anne took their seats in the front stalls. Her mind was still on the two friends they had made.

  "It's such a shame they have to leave when the play is over,” she said. “It would have been nice to have a drink with them afterwards."

  "Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Perhaps not."

  * * * *

  They were soon lost in the second half of the production. It was an exhilarating experience and gave them plenty to discuss when they returned to their hotel afterwards. The evening performance of The Merchant of Venice was equally satisfying, though Cyrus felt that the play was inferior to the one they had watched that afternoon. During the stroll back to the Shakespeare Hotel, he explained why. Mary Anne was, as ever, an attentive listener. Cyrus had hoped to continue the conversation over supper, but as soon as they entered the hotel they were intercepted. A stocky man in his forties introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Cyril Rushton and, after showing them his warrant card, asked if he might have a word with them. Mary Anne was patently discomfited.

  "We haven't done anything wrong, have we?” she asked.

  "Not at all, Mrs. Hillier,” said Rushton. “I just need your help.” He glanced around. “Is there somewhere private where we can speak?"

  "Our room might be the best place,” said Cyrus.

  "Lead the way, sir."

  Mary Anne was upset at being accosted by a detective, but Cyrus seemed to be completely unperturbed. It was almost as if he had been expecting it. When they got to the room, he sat on the edge of the bed while the others occupied the two chairs. Rushton produced a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flicked through the pages until he found the one he wanted.

  "I believe that you know a Miss Rosalind Walker,” he began. “It was she who told me where I could find you both. I understand that you met the lady this morning."

  "Yes,” said Mary Anne. “It was at Paddington Station."

  "And you traveled on the train to Stratford with her?"

  "We did, Sergeant Rushton. The Shakespeare Express."

  "Did you share the same carriage?"

  "No, she was in another carriage with her brother, Anthony."

  "That's what she claims."

  "It's exactly what happened, Sergeant."

  "Not necessarily,” said Cyrus.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Let the sergeant finish, Mary Anne."

  "But you were there, Cyrus. You saw them get on the train."

  "Miss Walker also claims that she and her brother attended a matinée performance of Troilus and Cressida," said Rushton, referring to his notebook. “Can you confirm that?"

  "Yes,” said Mary Anne.

  "No,” added her husband.

  "Cyrus, don't be silly,” she chided. “We met them."

  "We talked to them in the lobby, yes. But that doesn't mean they actually watched the performance."

  "Of course they did. They came into the auditorium with us."

  "But did they stay?—that's the question."

  "Ignore my husband,” she said with a touch of irritation. “He's had a lapse of memory. I can vouch for them. Rosalind and Anthony Walker saw that play this afternoon.” She looked at Cyrus. “How can you possibly deny it?"

  "Because I don't like being used, Mary Anne."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The sergeant will explain."

  Rushton took his cue. “At approximately eleven o'clock this morning,” he told them, “a jewelry shop in Banbury was robbed. The manager was injured in the process. The thief—a young man answering the description of Anthony Walker—got away with a substantial amount of jewelry."

  "It couldn't possibly have been him, Sergeant,” said Mary Anne defensively. “He was on the train and it doesn't even stop at Banbury."

  "Yes, it does,” observed Cyrus.

  "It's not a proper scheduled stop,” continued the detective. “They slip a carriage at the station, that's all. No passengers are allowed to join the train."

  "But they could leave it."

  "They could indeed, Professor Hillier. You stopped at Banbury at ten forty-one. That fits in with the timing of the robbery."

  "Did anyone see Anthony Walker leaving the train?” asked Mary Anne, refusing to believe that he could be implicated in a crime. “Well, did they?"

  "No, Mrs. Hillier."

  "There you are, then."

  "You don't understand, Mary Anne,” said her husband gently. “Rosalind's brother could not leave the train because he was never on it in the first place."

  "Yes, he was. You saw them get on together."

  "I saw her get into the train with a young man but there's no guarantee that it was Anthony. Apart from anything else, he lifted his hat to her when they met. Is that the kind of greeting you'd expect from a brother?” He looked at Rushton. “My guess is that it was Rosalind who got off at Banbury."

  "Quite right, sir,” said Rushton. “The stationmaster confirms it."

  "I begin to see why she never mentioned that stop to us. She told us everything else about the Shakespeare Express."

  Mary Anne was baffled. “What's going on?” she wondered.

  "We were tricked into providing an alibi."

  "I don't understand. All that we did was talk to her. In any case,” she went on, “how can Rosalind possibly be involved in the crime? The sergeant said that it was committed by a young man."

  "We've reason to believe that she was at the wheel of the car that was waiting outside the jewelry shop,” said Rushton seriously. “We have a number of witnesses who saw it being driven away at speed by a woman."

  "Oh!” Mary Anne was deeply shocked. “Are you saying that her brother was the thief?"

  "I doubt very much if he was her brother, honey,” said Cyrus.

  "Right again, sir,” said Rushton. “The second crime took place around two-thirty this afternoon—another jewelry shop, right here in Stratford. This time, both of them were involved. While the manageress of the shop was distracted, they switched expensive rings for cheap ones
."

  "Two-thirty, did you say?” Mary Anne shook her head. “It wasn't them, Sergeant. They were watching the matinée."

  "That's what they wanted us to think,” said Cyrus. “And they were very convincing. I daresay they've done this before."

  "More than once, Professor,” said the detective. “The first time, their target was a jewelry shop in High Wycombe. The Shakespeare Express stops there. My belief is that Miss Walker left the train there and was picked up by her accomplice in a car. On the second occasion, a jewelry shop in Warwick was robbed. Weeks later, they followed the same routine in Leamington Spa and got away with thousands of pounds’ worth of diamond rings. Today, however,” he concluded, “was the only time they committed two major crimes on the same day."

  "Overreachers,” mused Cyrus.

  "What's that, sir?"

  "People whose greed and ambition drives them too far. It's a concept with which Shakespeare was very familiar, though it's another playwright who gave it real definition. Does the name Philip Massinger mean anything to you, Sergeant?"

  "Afraid not, Professor,” confessed the other. “I've lived in Stratford all my life but—I'm ashamed to say—I've never once been to a play here. Mind you,” he added by way of mitigation, “I was on duty the night the Memorial Theatre burned down in nineteen twenty-six. Who was this Philip Messenger?"

  "Massinger—a Jacobean dramatist who wrote A New Way to Pay Old Debts. One of its main characters was a ruthless extortionist called Sir Giles Overreach. Like the two people we met earlier, he was brought down when trying to extend his grasping hand too far."

  "I still can't accept that they were criminals,” said Mary Anne. “They were too nice, too thoroughly decent."

  "And we were too thoroughly American, honey."

  "What do you mean?"

  "That's why we were singled out at Paddington. We looked like a pair of innocent, defenceless, trusting American tourists. Think back. Who initiated the conversation?"

  "She did, Cyrus."

  "Exactly. She befriended us to secure an alibi and she no doubt chose other unsuspecting Americans on the previous occasions."