At that moment they were exactly opposite Joan Carew’s door. It opened, she came out; with a nervous movement she shut the door behind her. At the sound André Favart turned, and he saw drawn up against the panels of the door, with a look of terror in her face, the same gay figure which had interrupted him in Mrs. Blumenstein’s bedroom. There was no need for Joan to act. In the presence of this man her fear was as real as it had been on the night of the Semiramis ball. She trembled from head to foot. Her eyes closed; she seemed about to swoon.
Favart stared and uttered an oath. His face turned white; he staggered back as if he had seen a ghost. Then he made a wild dash along the corridor, and was seized and held by two of the men in evening dress. Favart recovered his wits. He ceased to struggle.
“What does this outrage mean?” he asked, and one of the men drew a warrant and notebook from his pocket.
“You are arrested for the murder of Mrs. Blumenstein in the Semiramis Hotel,” he said, “and I have to warn you that anything you may say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.”
“Preposterous!” exclaimed Favart. “There’s a mistake. We will go along to the police and put it right. Where’s your evidence against me?”
Hanaud stepped out of the doorway of the dressing-room.
“In the property-room of the theatre,” he said.
At the sight of him Favart uttered a violent cry of rage. “You are here, too, are you?” he screamed, and he sprang at Hanaud’s throat. Hanaud stepped lightly aside. Favart was borne down to the ground, and when he stood up again the handcuffs were on his wrists.
Favart was led away, and Hanaud turned to Mr. Ricardo and Clements.
“Let us go to the property-room,” he said. They passed along the corridor, and Ricardo noticed that Calladine was no longer with them. He turned and saw him standing outside Joan Carew’s dressing-room.
“He would like to come, of course,” said Ricardo.
“Would he?” asked Hanaud. “Then why doesn’t he? He’s quite grown up, you know,” and he slipped his arm through Ricardo’s and led him back across the stage. In the property-room there was already a detective in plain clothes. Mr. Ricardo had still not as yet guessed the truth.
“What is it you really want, sir?” the property-master asked of the director.
“Only the jewels of the Madonna,” Hanaud answered.
The property-master unlocked a cupboard and took from it the sparkling cuirass. Hanaud pointed to it, and there, lost amongst the huge glittering stones of paste and false pearls, Mrs. Blumenstein’s necklace was entwined.
“Then that is why Favart came always to Covent Garden when The Jewels of the Madonna was being performed!” exclaimed Ricardo.
Hanaud nodded.
“He came to watch over his treasure.”
Ricardo was piecing together the sections of the puzzle.
“No doubt he knew of the necklace in America. No doubt he followed it to England.”
Hanaud agreed.
“Mrs. Blumenstein’s jewels were quite famous in New York.”
“But to hide them here!” cried Mr. Clements. “He must have been mad.”
“Why?” asked Hanaud. “Can you imagine a safer hiding-place? Who is going to burgle the property-room of Covent Garden? Who is going to look for a priceless string of pearls amongst the stage jewels of an opera house?”
“You did,” said Mr. Ricardo.
“I?” replied Hanaud, shrugging his shoulders. “Joan Carew’s dreams led me to André Favart. The first time we came here and saw the pearls of the Madonna, I was on the look-out, naturally. I noticed Favart at the back of the stalls. But it was a stroke of luck that I noticed those pearls through my opera glasses.”
“At the end of the second act?” cried Ricardo suddenly. “I remember now.”
“Yes,” replied Hanaud. “But for that second act the pearls would have stayed comfortably here all through the season. Carmen Valeri — a fool as I told you — would have tossed them about in her dressing-room without a notion of their value, and at the end of July, when the murder at the Semiramis Hotel had been forgotten, Favart would have taken them to Amsterdam and made his bargain.”
“Shall we go?”
They left the theatre together and walked down to the grill-room of the Semiramis. But as Hanaud looked through the glass door he drew back.
“We will not go in, I think, eh?”
“Why?” asked Ricardo.
Hanaud pointed to a table. Calladine and Joan Carew were seated at it taking their supper.
“Perhaps,” said Hanaud with a smile, “perhaps, my friend — what? Who shall say that the rooms in the Adelphi will not be given up?”
They turned away from the hotel. But Hanaud was right, and before the season was over Mr. Ricardo had to put his hand in his pocket for a wedding present.
UNDER BIGNOR HILL
THE ACTION OF the play takes place on a night in summer at the foot of Bignor Hill on the north side of the Sussex Downs. The time is that of the Roman occupation of England. In the foreground is an open space of turf surrounded with gorse-bushes. The turf rises in a steep bank at the back and melts into the side of the hill. The left of the stage is closed in by a wooded spur of the hill. The scene is wild and revealed by a strong moonlight. A fallen tree-trunk lies on the right, and a raised bank is at the left of the stage.
On the summit of the hill the glow of a camp-fire is seen, and from time to time a flame leaps up as though fuel had been added. Towards the end of the play the fire dies down and goes out.
When the curtain rises the stage is empty, but a sound of men marching is faintly heard. The sound is heard in pauses throughout the first part of the play.
[Gleva enters from the R. She is a British princess, clothed in skins. But she has added to her dress some of the refinements of the conquerors — a shirt of fine linen, the high sandals of the Roman lady, the Roman comb in her hair, some jewellery, a necklace of stones, and bracelets. She is followed by three men of her tribe, wild men in skins, armed with knives, and flint axes carried at the waist. Gleva comes forward silently into the open space of turf.]
Gleva: No one!
Bran: The trumpet has not sounded the last call on the hill.
Gleva: No. Yet the hour for it is past. By now the camp should be asleep. (She looks up the hill and then turns to her men.) Be ready to light the torch.
Caransius: Everything is strange to-day.
[He sits R. under the shelter of a bush, and with a flint and steel kindles a tiny flame during the following scene. He has a torch in his hand which he lays by his side. When the fire is lighted he blows on it from time to time to keep it alight.]
Bran: Yes. And yesterday. For many months we have been left in quiet. Now once more the soldiers march through Anderida.
Gleva (holds up her hand): Listen!
[A pause. The sound of marching is heard quite clearly, but at a distance.]
Bran: It does not stop, Princess.
Gleva: All yesterday, all through last night, all through this long day! Listen to it, steady as a heart beating, steady and terrible. (She speaks with great discouragement, moving apart, L., and sitting on tree bole.)
Caransius (lighting fire): I crept to the edge of the forest to-day. I lay very quiet behind the bushes and looked out across the clearing to the road.
Gleva: You!
[A general exclamation of astonishment.]
Caransius: Oh, it’s not easy to frighten me, I can tell you. I fought at Verulanium with the Iceni. I know. I carried a sling. (He nods majestically at his companions.) And there you have it.
Gleva: Yes, yes, good friend. But which way did the soldiers march? What of the road?
[She goes over to him.]
Caransius: Mistress, there wasn’t any road. There were only soldiers. As far as my eyes could see, bright helmets and brown faces and flashing shoulder plates bobbing up and down between the trees and a smother of dust until my head
whirled.
Bran and Both Attendants: Oh!
Gleva: But which way did they go?
Caransius: I lost my dog, too — the brute. He ran from me and joined the marching men. I dared not call to him.
Bran: Yes, that is the way of dogs.
Gleva: Did they go north towards the Wall? (She shakes him.)
Caransius (who has been blowing on the fire, now sits up comfortably and smiles upon Gleva, who is tortured with impatience): God bless you, mistress, there isn’t any Wall. I know about the Romans; I know! I fought at Verulanium. Now!
[Gleva turns away in despair of getting any sense out of him. A trumpet sounds on the top of Bignor Hill, faintly. All turn swiftly towards it.]
Gleva: Ready!
[A sound of armed men moving, a clash of shields is heard from the top of Bignor Hill.]
Now fire the torch. Give it me! (She springs on to the bank and waves it three times from side to side, steps down, and gives it back to an attendant, who puts it out.)
Caransius (continuing placidly): No, there’s no Wall. There are a great many mistakes made about the Romans. They are no longer the men they were. I carried a sling at Verulanium, and there you have it. I’ll tell you something. The soldiers were marching to Regnum.
Gleva: To Regnum? Are you sure?
Caransius: Yes. Up over the great Down they went. I saw their armour amongst the trees on the side of the hill, and the smoke of their marching on the round bare top.
Gleva: They were going to Regnum and the sea. (She speaks in despair.)
Third Attendant: I am afraid.
Gleva (turns on him scornfully): You! Why should you fear if they are marching to the sea?
Third Attendant: I have been afraid ever since yesterday. The noise of the marching scattered my wits.
[Gleva and the others laugh contemptuously.]
And because I was afraid — I killed. (A low cry of consternation bursts from Bran and Caransius.)
Bran: Madman! Madman!
Gleva: You killed one of the Romans!
Third Attendant (stands before her): I was afraid. It was by the old forge in the forest. There’s a brook by the forge.
Bran: Yes.
Third Attendant: He had fallen out of the ranks. He was stooping over the brook. I saw the sun sparkle upon his helmet as he dipped it into the water, and his strong, brown neck as he raised it. I crept close to him and struck at his neck as he drank.
Caransius: That was a good stroke.
Bran: A mad stroke.
Third Attendant: He fell over without a cry, and all his armour rattled once.
Bran: It will be the fire for our barns, and death for every tenth man of the tribe.
Third Attendant: No one saw.
Gleva: Stand here!
[The third attendant stands before her.]
I gave an order.
Caransius: Yet, mistress, it is better to strike against orders than to leave one’s friends and, like my dog, follow the marching men.
[A cry bursts from Bran. He seizes Caransius. Gleva stands with her hand upon her knife. Then she turns away, and buries her face in her hands. A whistle is heard from the hillside above her on the left. She looks up, and her face changes. She turns to third attendant.]
Gleva: Go up the hill — close to the camp, as close as you can creep, and watch. So may you earn your pardon. (He goes off.) You two stand aside — but not so far but that a cry may bring you instantly.
Bran: We will be ready. (Exeunt R.)
[Gleva faces the spur of the hill on her left as if all her world was there. There is a movement among the trees on the spur, a flash of armour in the moonlight, and at the edge of the trees appears Quintus Calpurnius Aulus, a Captain about thirty-five years old, handsome, but in repose his face is stern and inscrutable. He is active, lithe, self-confident. He comes out into the open just below the trees, and stands quite still. His very attitude should suggest strength.]
Quintus: I am here. (He speaks with the voice of a man accustomed to command, and to have his orders obeyed without question. Gleva stands erect questioning his authority. Then she crosses her hands upon her bosom and bows her head.)
Gleva: My Lord Calpurnius.
[Calpurnius laughs. He runs down the slope.]
Calpurnius: That’s well. (He takes her in his arms.) You have a trick of saying “Calpurnius.” I shall remember it till I die.
[Gleva draws away from him.]
Say it again.
Gleva: With all my soul in the word. It is a prayer. Calpurnius!
[Calpurnius is moved by the passion of her voice. He takes her hands in his.]
Calpurnius: Yes. I shall remember till I die. (They move towards the bank.)
Gleva: My lord is late to-night.
Calpurnius: Late! A Roman soldier of fifteen years’ service late. My dear, let us talk sense. Come!
[The trumpet sounds again from the hill. Calpurnius stops.]
Gleva: Why does the trumpet sound?
Calpurnius: To call some straggler back to Rome.
Gleva: Rome! (With a cry.)
Calpurnius: Yes. For every one of us, the camp on the empty hill-top there is Rome, and all Rome’s in the trumpet call.
Gleva: Is the sound so strange and moving?
Calpurnius: Yes. Most strange, most moving. For I know that at this actual minute every Roman soldier on guard throughout the world has the sound of it in his ears, here in the forest of Anderida, far away on some fortress wall in Syria. (Throws off his seriousness.) But I am talking of sacred things, and that one should be shy to do. Come, Gleva. We have little time. When the moon touches those trees I climb again.
Gleva: Yet, my lord, for one more moment think of me not as the foolish, conquered slave. Listen! Turn your head this way and listen.
Calpurnius: What shall I hear? Some nightingale pouring out love upon a moonlit night? He’ll not say “Calpurnius” with so sweet a note as you.
Gleva: You’ll hear no nightingale, nor any sound that has one memory of me in it. Listen, you’ll hear — all Rome.
[He looks at her quickly. In the pause is heard the sound of men marching.]
That speaks louder than the trumpets.
[He is very still.]
Calpurnius! (She sits by him, and puts an arm about his shoulder. She speaks his name as if she were afraid.) The Romans flee from Britain.
Calpurnius (with a start of contempt): Madness! It’s one legion going home. Another, with its rest still to earn, will take its place.
Gleva: Which legion goes?
Calpurnius: How should I know? (A pause.) The Valeria Victrix.
Gleva: Yours! (She starts away from him.) Calpurnius, yours!
Calpurnius: Yes, mine. My legion goes to Rome. (His voice thrills with eagerness. He has been troubled through the scene how he shall break the news. Now it is out, he cannot conceal his joy.)
Gleva: But you — you stay behind.
Calpurnius (gently): This is our last night together. Let us not waste it. Never was there a night so made for love. (He draws her towards him.)
Gleva: You go with your legion?
Calpurnius: Before the dawn.
Gleva: It’s impossible. No. You’ll stay behind.
Calpurnius: No.
Gleva: Listen to me. You shall be King with me.
Calpurnius (in a burst of contempt): King here! In the forests of Britain! I!
Gleva: Yes. You’ll lie quiet here. I by your side. Your hand in mine. See! We’ll forget the hours. The dawn will come.
Calpurnius: And find me a traitor!
Gleva: I am already one. There was a servant with me. He told me I was like a dog that leaves its own people to follow the marching men.
Calpurnius (sits up): And you let him live, with this knife ready in your girdle?
Gleva: He spoke the truth.
Calpurnius: The truth! (Contemptuously.) There’s a word for you! Child! There’s a greater thing in the world than truth. Truth w
ins no battles.
Gleva: What’s this greater thing?
Calpurnius: Discipline! You should have struck.
Gleva: I wish I had. For he might have struck back.
Calpurnius: Discipline! So I go with my legion.
Gleva (with a cry accusingly): You want to go.
Calpurnius (springs up): By all the gods I do. For ten years I have toiled in Britain building roads — roads — roads — till I’m sick of them. First the pounded earth, then the small stones, next the rubble, then the concrete, and last of all the pavement; here in Anderida, there across the swamps to Londinium, northwards through the fens to Eboracum — ten years of it. And now — Rome — the mother of me!
Gleva: Rome? (She speaks despairingly. Calpurnius has forgotten her: he answers her voice, not her.)
Calpurnius: Just for a little while. Oh, I shall go out again, but just for a little while — to rise when I want to, not at the trumpet’s call, the house all quiet till I clap my hands — to have one’s mornings free — to saunter through the streets, picking up the last new thing of Juvenal in the Argiletum, or some fine piece of Corinthian bronze in the Campus Martius, and stopping on the steps of the Appian Way to send a basket of flowers or a bottle of new scent to some girl that has caught one’s fancy. To go to the theatre, and see the new play, though, to be sure, people write to me that there are no plays nowadays.
Gleva: Plays?
Calpurnius: And in the evening with a party of girls in their bravest, all without a care, to gallop in the cool along the Appian Way to Baiae and crowned with roses and violets have supper by the sea. Oh, to see one’s women again — Lydia’ll be getting on, by the way! — women dressed, jewelled, smelling of violets. Oh, just for a little while! By Castor and Pollux, I have deserved it.
Gleva (who has been listening in grief): Yes, you must go. (She goes to him and sits at his side.) I have a plan.
Calpurnius: Yes. (Absently.)
Gleva: Listen to me! — Calpurnius.
[He laughs affectionately at her pronunciation of his name.]
Calpurnius: Let me hear this wise plan!
Gleva: I will go with you.
Calpurnius (rising): What?
[Gleva pulls him down.]
Gleva: Yes, I’ll give up my kingdom here, sacrifice it all, and go to Rome with you. Calpurnius (in a whisper), I’ll be your Lydia. Oh, to drive with you on such a night as this, all crowned with roses, from Rome to Baiae on the sea.
Complete Works of a E W Mason Page 807