‘The carpenters who were responsible for the scenery were summoned, but expressed puzzlement at what had happened. The scenery, they said, had been adequately fixed when last they had inspected it, the door had opened easily and the door-knob had not had any nails sticking out of it. At length, the incident was ascribed to that species of ill-fortune which does sometimes bedevil the preparation of a large and complex theatrical production. A few days later, however, a young girl in the female chorus hurt her arm when she fell heavily as she came on to the stage. It was found that a length of cord had been fastened across an opening on to the stage, a few inches above the ground, and this is what had tripped her up. No one knew why it was there and the matter remained a mystery. The girl was badly shaken by the incident, however, and within two days had withdrawn from the production altogether. This was a great shame, for she was a very nice young lady. Physically, she was not badly injured, but her heart was sorely wounded to think that someone should dislike her so much as to play such a nasty trick upon her. Personally, I wondered if the trick had really been intended for someone else, for it seemed likely that the cord over which she had tripped had been in position since the morning, and the schedule of rehearsals had been altered during the day.’
‘Do you know who might have fallen foul of the cord if the order of rehearsals had not been changed?’ interrupted Holmes.
‘I think it might have been Lydia Summers. I cannot be certain on the point, however, and I did not mention my thoughts on the matter to anyone else. At any event, Miss Summers was not spared for long. A day or two after this incident, she came to my dressing-room. She was pale and appeared upset, and when she spoke she was very agitated. She told me that she had been passing along the basement corridor, near the wardrobe rooms, when someone had come up behind her and pushed her violently to the floor. When she looked round, there was no one to be seen. She was not badly hurt, but the incident had left her feeling shaken and nervous.
‘The following week, I was rehearsing on stage with the chorus, under the direction of Mr Hardy, when all the lights in the house abruptly went out and we were plunged into pitch blackness. It was evident that the gas supply had failed. It was very dangerous, as we could not see where we were treading, and parts of the stage were littered with pieces of half-made scenery, lumps of wood, tools and so on. Not only that, but of course if the gas supply had then been restored, the theatre would soon have been full of it, escaping unburnt from the unlit lamps. There could have been a dreadful explosion, and we might all have been killed. Fortunately, Mr Hardy had a lantern with him. He quickly lit this and hurried down to the basement, to examine the main stop-tap. It was turned fully on and it seemed the gas supply had been restored, for there was a dreadful smell of gas everywhere. He at once turned the stop-tap off, and sent everyone round the theatre to turn off all the individual taps by the lamps and open all the windows. It was some time before the gas cleared and we were able to light the lamps once more and continue with our rehearsal. Mr Hardy reported the matter to the gas company and they sent an inspector round to investigate, but he could find nothing wrong. He said that there had certainly been no interruption to the main gas supply and could only suggest that someone had turned off the main tap in the theatre basement, waited for a few minutes and then turned it back on again.
‘Mr Hardy, understandably, declared that a preposterous suggestion. ‘‘Why should anyone do such a thing?’’ he demanded.
‘At this, the gas inspector shook his head and said he was sure he didn’t know. Then he swore again that the gas supply had been perfectly in order until it reached the theatre. There was nothing to be done, so Mr Hardy let the matter drop. But although he has not referred to it since, it has caused him, I believe, some anxiety.’
‘You say you were rehearsing with the chorus, when the gas went out,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘Where were the other principal players at that time?’
‘In their dressing-rooms, I believe,’ replied Miss Ballantyne. ‘Each of us – Mr Xavier, Mr Webster, Miss Summers and myself – has a private dressing-room, in the basement. I believe I heard some of them calling out in the dark when I followed Mr Hardy down into the basement after the lights had gone out.’
‘Was there anyone else in the basement at the time?’
‘Only the seamstresses. There are four of them. The sewing-room in which they work is next to the large rooms in which the company’s costumes are stored. They have been working hard for several weeks on getting the costumes ready for The Lavender Girl. It is a sizeable task, for some of the costumes are very elaborate, and there are a lot of them.’
‘I see,’ said Holmes. ‘Did any of the seamstresses report hearing or seeing anyone in the basement at the time of the incident?’
Miss Ballantyne shook her head. ‘The door to their room is a stout one and it was closed at the time. Besides, they prattle so much while they are working that they probably would not have heard anything, anyway.’
‘Very well,’ said Holmes. ‘Pray continue with your account!’
‘One afternoon last week, I was in my dressing-room when there came all at once a terrific racket of shouting and banging. I left my room and hurried along the corridor in the direction of the noise. As I did so, it abruptly ceased, but when I turned a corner of the corridor, I ran into a crowd of people surrounding Jimmy Webster, just outside his dressing-room, which is some distance from mine, near the costume department. I gathered that someone had locked his door and turned his light off, leaving him in the dark.
‘“How did you get out, then?” I asked him. “Did someone unlock the door from the outside?”
‘He shook his head. “That’s the strange thing: when the girls from the sewing-room tried my door, they say it opened easily and wasn’t locked at all!”
‘“How do you explain it?” I asked.
‘“The door was certainly locked when I tried to open it,” said he. “There is always a key in the outside of the lock, although I never use it. Someone must have turned the key and locked it. Then, just before these ladies arrived, when I had given up trying to open the door and was reduced to simply banging on it for all I was worth, he must have unlocked the door again and run off.”
‘“Did you see anyone?” I asked the seamstresses, but they shook their heads.
‘“How was your light turned off?” I asked Jimmy.
‘He pointed to a gas-tap on a pipe which runs along the corridor outside his room. “It must have been turned off there,” said he.
‘“It’s not turned off now,” observed Ludovic Xavier, who had joined us as Jimmy had been speaking.
‘“I don’t need you to tell me that, Xavier,” returned Jimmy. “Clearly, whoever had turned it off also turned it back on again when my light had gone out.”
‘“It’s turned off inside your room,” said Xavier, putting his head into Jimmy’s dressing-room. “There’s no smell of gas in here.”
‘“Well, of course there isn’t,” retorted Webster. “I turned it off myself after the light went out! I wasn’t inclined to sit there patiently waiting to be asphyxiated!”
‘“It all seems a little odd to me,” remarked Xavier with a shake of the head.
‘“How very perceptive of you!” cried Webster in an ironic tone. “‘Odd’ is certainly the word, Xavier; and it ain’t so little, either!” With that, he pushed his way past us into his room, relit the gas, and shut the door.
‘I did not know what to make of this incident. By itself, it might have appeared merely a silly prank, but following all the other incidents as it did, I could not but think that it was connected with them in some way. Some of the things that have happened may have been simply accidents, some appear to be spiteful little tricks, unpleasant but not serious; but the recent incidents with the gas are more serious. If interfering with the gas supply is someone’s idea of a joke, then that person must have a very warped and unpleasant sense of humour.’
There was a note of great
agitation in Miss Ballantyne’s voice as she spoke these last words, and she clasped and unclasped her hands in a tense, nervous manner. Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes, leaned forward in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers upon the back of her hand.
‘Madam, you are frightened,’ said he in a soothing tone.
‘I would not deny it,’ returned his visitor, in a voice which trembled with emotion. ‘You may dismiss it as a mere fancy, but I have had an apprehension of danger since the first moment I entered the Albion to begin rehearsals. It is a place of strange noises and echoes, especially in the basement. Once or twice I have been down there alone – or so I thought – and have heard footsteps in the corridor outside my room, but when I looked, there was no one there. Whether what I heard could have been caused by the odd draughts that blow down there, or by the dripping of rainwater, I don’t know. On another occasion, when I was really sure there was no one about, I had come down the stairs from the auditorium and turned into the basement corridor, when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw someone at the other end of the corridor, who vanished round a corner at that precise moment.’
‘Could you see who it was?’
Miss Ballantyne shook her head. ‘The lighting down there is very dim. I had the merest impression of a dark figure, that is all. I do not know what will happen next, Mr Holmes, but I fear that it may be something dreadful.’
‘Perhaps, also, you fear that you may be the next victim selected by this unseen malefactor?’
‘That is so. I have seen others fall foul of his tricks. Perhaps next time it will be me.’
‘What does anyone else think of it all?’ enquired Holmes after a moment. ‘What, for instance, is your husband’s opinion?’
Miss Ballantyne hesitated, and her hands began again their restless twining.
‘There is a difficulty there,’ she responded at last. ‘My husband is not greatly interested in theatrical matters generally, except in so far as they affect my own career, and until this week I had spoken little of these things to him. I had mentioned one or two of the incidents, but in a light-hearted way only. I have been afraid to unburden myself of my true feelings.’
‘Afraid? Why?’
‘I know his character only too well. I knew that if he understood my anxieties he would consider nothing but my safety and insist that I withdraw from the production at once. When I did at last speak freely to him on the subject, two nights ago, his response was precisely as I had expected. “Leave the production,” said he. “I will square it financially with Hardy.” But I told him I could not do it. Such a course would be disastrous. It would let down badly everyone who has worked so hard to get The Lavender Girl ready and to ensure that it is a success. He himself would lose a considerable amount of money if the play did not open, for he has provided a third of the finance for the production. But I know he would dismiss that as unimportant in comparison with my well-being.’
‘If so,’ interrupted Holmes, ‘he would be correct. You must not place yourself in danger merely on account of financial considerations, Miss Ballantyne. You no doubt consider you owe some loyalty to your theatrical colleagues, but this loyalty must be tempered by regard for your own safety. The difficulty, of course, lies in estimating the degree of danger which you and your colleagues face.’
‘My husband said much the same, Mr Holmes. I did eventually succeed in persuading him that I must continue with The Lavender Girl; but he has proposed that in future he be present in the theatre as often as possible, whenever I am working there. I readily accepted this suggestion, as you will imagine. It will be heartening for me, to know that he is close at hand. And yet,’ Miss Ballantyne added after a moment’s pause, ‘so secretly and cunningly has the persecutor wrought his work, that I wonder whether the presence of even a regiment of soldiers could prevail against him.’
Holmes nodded. ‘How does Mr Hudson Hardy view the matter?’ said he.
‘He dismisses my fears as groundless,’ returned Miss Ballantyne, ‘and tries to laugh them away. “Why,” said he, yesterday evening, when we were discussing the matter, “I have never known a production yet in which there were not unexplained accidents, malicious pranks, heated quarrels, injuries and last-minute resignations! It is simply the way of the theatrical world, Isabel, as you must surely have observed over the years!”
‘I acknowledged that there was some truth in what he said, although he exaggerated a little. But I insisted that on this occasion there was something more malicious and sinister in the circumstances. He was still inclined to dismiss the matter, however, and I could not think how to convince him otherwise. Then I thought of you, Mr Holmes. I was in Oxford for a time last summer, appearing in As You Like It at the theatre there, and I recalled reading a report in the Oxford Mail of the part you had played in what sounded a very strange affair, at somewhere called Fox House, I believe.’
‘Foxwood Grange?’
‘Yes, that is the place.’
‘A most interesting case! I was not aware that the Oxford Mail had reported it.’
‘It was a very full report. It made it clear that you had been chiefly responsible for uncovering the truth and bringing the whole affair to a successful conclusion. As I remembered it, I wondered if you could perhaps achieve the same with our little problem, and suggested as much to Mr Hardy.’
‘What was his response?’
‘He said that he would bear the suggestion in mind, should anything further occur, but thought it unnecessary to consult you at present. I considered the matter further last night, however, and decided at length that I would ignore Mr Hardy’s opinion, and engage you upon my own account.’
‘I should be pleased to look into the matter for you,’ began Holmes, but he paused as there came an interruption. The door-bell had sounded as Miss Ballantyne had been speaking, and now the sitting-room door opened and our landlady put her head in, and apologised for the intrusion.
‘I did not know you were still engaged, Mr Holmes,’ said she. ‘There’s a gentleman called to see you. I can ask him to wait downstairs.’
‘What is the gentleman’s name?’ asked Holmes.
‘Mr Richard Hudson Hardy,’ said she.
II
Holmes glanced at his visitor, who had raised her eyebrows in surprise.
‘What is your wish?’ asked he. ‘Should I invite Mr Hudson Hardy to join our little discussion?’
‘By all means,’ returned Miss Ballantyne. ‘I am pleased he has had a change of heart.’
‘Kindly ask Mr Hudson Hardy to step up,’ said Holmes to the landlady, and a moment later we were joined by the well-known actor, manager and theatrical producer. He was a portly, middle-aged man, with a broad, clean-shaven face and close-cropped greying hair. He paused for a moment in surprise as his eyes lit upon Miss Ballantyne; then he reached forward to her, his hands outstretched.
‘My dear!’ cried he, smiling broadly. ‘So you find me out!’
‘I do not know what you mean,’ she returned, a frown of puzzlement upon her face; ‘but I am glad that you have altered your opinion as to the worth of consulting Mr Holmes.’
‘My meaning, Isabel, is that I was not, I regret to say, entirely honest with you,’ said Hardy, looking a little shamefaced, as he took the chair I offered him. ‘The fact is, my dear, that I thought your suggestion a good one. But I was apprehensive that if I appeared too eager to accept it I should confirm in you those very fears which I was most anxious to alleviate. I therefore said nothing, but resolved there and then that I would consult Mr Holmes at the very first opportunity. So here I am!’ he concluded, looking from one to the other of us with a beaming smile.
‘In that case,’ said Miss Ballantyne after a moment, rising to her feet. ‘As you are here, Mr Hardy, and as I have told Mr Holmes all I can recall at present in connection with the matter, I think that I shall take my leave of you. There are one or two things I wished to do before attending today’s rehearsal. I had thought that I should h
ave to cancel them, but if I leave now, I might be able to fit them in.’
A moment later, with a brief nod to us, and a swish of her maroon and salmon skirts, the celebrated actress took her exit from our humble rooms.
‘Now,’ said Holmes to the newcomer, ‘Miss Ballantyne has described to us certain recent occurrences at your theatre which have caused her anxiety. I take it from what you say that you share her concern.’
‘Broadly speaking, that is correct,’ returned Hardy, ‘although I am still hopeful that it will blow over. Perhaps the mean-spirited individual who has delighted in playing malicious pranks on his fellow-actors has now satisfied his depraved urges. In which case, we may already have seen the last of it. One cannot know for certain, however, and I have sometimes wondered if there is not someone in the company who has a profound determination to wreck the production, and who will not stop until he has done so. In any case, whether there is yet more of this unpleasantness to come or not, I should certainly like to know who is behind it all and expel him from the company. I thus place the case in your hands, Mr Holmes.’
‘Very well,’ said Holmes. ‘First, then, Mr Hardy, I should be obliged if you could furnish me with a little general information as to the company. Leaving aside for a moment the malicious incidents, would you say that it has, generally speaking, been a happy and contented company?’
‘So I believe. Of course, there has been the occasional disagreement, and no doubt one or two of the company have sometimes wished themselves elsewhere.’
‘Did you have anything specific in mind?’
‘It is no secret that some of the actors could very easily find themselves alternative employment, and some of that alternative employment might possibly be better than that which they have at present. I was thinking only the other night what the consequences might be for Miss Ballantyne, for instance, should The Lavender Girl fail to open on time, or be cancelled altogether. Neither of these possibilities is very likely, but one has to have regard for every eventuality. Anyway, my conclusion was that she would not be particularly inconvenienced.’
The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Page 10
