The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  As Stone’s eyelids began flickering, they both thought of the weeks spent in Maxwell Stone’s grim prison, remembering those who had died there at the hands of his assassin. Their eyes met, and Dani whispered, “I still think about them a lot—Rosie and Alex and Candi.”

  “Me, too,” Ben said, and she saw with surprise that he meant it. He was so hard that she found it difficult to know what he was thinking, but momentarily he had allowed his iron control to slip. He smiled and added, “Yeah, Boss, I have a few soft spots.” Then he glanced at Stone, and the gentleness disappeared. “Well, welcome back, Stone.”

  “What—?” the man was pawing at the air. As they watched, his eyes cleared. He sat up straight in the chair, touched his right temple, and winced. “Well, sir, you didn’t leave a scar. I’m most grateful for that.”

  Dani stared at him, for the voice was different—deeper and more resonant. “I don’t believe your fellow inmates will be very concerned with your appearance, Mr. Stone,” she commented as she turned to the phone and picked it up. “Get me the police, Angie.” Moving back to their captive, she warned, “Assault with a deadly weapon is a pretty serious charge. With good lawyers, you might get off with a year’s actual time. I suppose you’ve got money from your brother?”

  “Why, no,” the man said and gave a deep chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I don’t have any of Maxwell Stone’s money. Why should I? I’m no relation to him—thank God!”

  Dani stared at him. “That’s not what you’ve been saying—” Over the phone, a voice said, “Police station,” and she requested, “Let me speak to Lieutenant Spears, please. Yes, I’ll wait.”

  “Now, just give me five minutes, Miss Ross—then you can make all the calls you want—please.”

  It was the final word that decided Dani. She hung up the phone and returned to her chair. Sitting down, she leaned back. “You have five minutes, Mr. Stone.”

  The man straightened up. With both hands he reached up and began pulling at his beard. “This thing itches like crazy,” he remarked and laughed at the expression on Dani’s face as the beard began to come off. “Oh, it’s not real, Miss Ross,” he confessed cheerfully. “And my hair isn’t white, either, but I’ll have to wash the dye out to prove it. There—how’s that?”

  “It doesn’t keep you out of jail,” Dani said. “Did you disguise yourself so that it would be harder for the police to find you?”

  “Indeed not! And my name is not Stone, by the way.”

  Ben hefted the .38 in his hand and questioned idly, “This gun registered in your name?”

  “No, it’s not. And it isn’t loaded, as you can see.”

  Ben threw the cylinder out, stared at it, then told Dani, “He’s not lying about that, anyway. But you can do time for just threatening a person with an unloaded gun.”

  “May I stand up?” The man called Stone rose and reached into his back pocket. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m just getting out my wallet.” He smiled as Savage tensed. “There, Miss Ross. Please check my identification.”

  Dani took the billfold, noting that it was made of very expensive eelskin, and looked at the driver’s license, then at the credit cards. “Jonathan Ainsley,” she read, darting a look at Savage. “We have a celebrity in our midst, Ben.”

  “Yeah,” Ben nodded. “Can I have your autograph?”

  Jonathan Ainsley was more than a celebrity. He was one of the top names in the theater. Not the movies—the theater. He had been the boy genius of the stage. At twenty-four he had written, produced, and starred in a modern drama, Climax, which had won every award the world of drama can offer. It had also been made into a movie—starring Jonathan Ainsley, naturally. The film had won the Academy Award for best film, and Ainsley had won the award for best actor.

  Dani leaned back, at once recognizing that the man actually was Jonathan Ainsley. She had seen him in the play and had seen the movie many times. He must be about thirty now, she thought, admiring the sensitive face. Beginning to show a few lines around the mouth—and his neck is thickening just a bit—but he still reminds me of Olivier!

  “What’s this all about, Mr. Ainsley?” Dani said quietly. When the other girls had been squealing over rock stars, she had been poring over every detail of Ainsley’s life. Now she felt strange, just looking at him, and found it impossible to think of any reason that could bring him to her office—especially under such bizarre circumstances.

  “Why, Miss Ross.” Ainsley smiled. “It’s really very simple.” He paused, pulled a gold cigarette case from his inner pocket, and made a business out of removing a cigarette and lighting it. It was a theatrical thing, Dani recognized. He probably acts for himself in the shower, she thought wryly. But it was well done; the man had the quality of drawing notice to himself.

  “I want to hire you, Miss Ross,” Ainsley explained and smiled again at the look of incredulity that appeared on Dani’s face. “Oh, I apologize for my overdone approach.” “I’ve been in the theater so long, I can’t scratch my nose without making a production out of it! But this time there was method in my madness.”

  “Mr. Savage and I would like to hear it,” Dani invited evenly.

  “Ah—your name is Savage?” Ainsley touched his temple and, giving Ben a half-angry glance, said, “You are well-named, sir! A very sanguinary fellow indeed!”

  Savage had gone to lean against the wall, his eyes studying the young woman standing on the balcony across the street. Now he tore his gaze away. “Me—sanguinary? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone use that word.”

  “It means—” Ainsley began.

  “He knows what it means.” Dani cut him off. A trace of irritation crossed her words. Savage, who was usually polite to waitresses and clerks, seemed to delight in sinking verbal barbs in those in high places—a habit that had gotten him and the agency into trouble more than once. “Ben, be quiet. Now, Mr. Ainsley, I take it you have a problem—but why all this business with the fake beard and the gun?”

  Ainsley flushed slightly, then gave a rueful laugh. “Well, I have to admit it wasn’t one of my better ideas. I have a problem, and I have to be sure that I get the right people to help me. Your encounter with Maxwell Stone was all over the papers, and it fascinated me. But no one knows better than I how the papers lie, so although I was inclined to ask you to help me, I wanted to make sure. It just happened that I had to make this trip to New Orleans on business, so I decided to give you a little test.”

  Dani stared at him, but said only, “Well, it was foolish. If you’d pulled that gun on Ben, you’d probably be dead. But you have a problem, you say?”

  Ainsley’s long lips suddenly grew tense, and he spoke soberly, “I have indeed. Will you look at these, Miss Ross?” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it across the desk.

  Dani pulled two sheets of paper from the envelope and read each in turn. Both were printed in capital letters on a worn typewriter, obviously a very old one. She noted at once that the letters O and E were half raised. The first message read:

  AINSLEY—I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU. A MAN SUCH AS YOU DOESN’T DESERVE TO LIVE. YOU HAVE RUINED MY LIFE, SO NOW I DO NOT PROPOSE TO LET YOU LIVE. YOU ESCAPED THIS MORNING, BUT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE FOREVER.

  The second message was typed on the same machine.

  AINSLEY—YOU HAVE HAD TWO CLOSE CALLS. SURELY YOU KNOW BY NOW THAT I AM SERIOUS. HOWEVER, I HAVE DECIDED TO LET YOU LIVE, IF YOU WILL DO AS I SAY. YOU MUST NOT APPEAR ON THE STAGE. I KNOW YOU. YOU LOVE ACTING AS YOU LOVE LIFE, AND IT WILL HURT YOU WORSE TO LEAVE ACTING THAN TO DIE. I HAVE READ THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DO A PLAY. BUT YOU WILL NOT SUCCEED. I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU GO ON THE STAGE. I MEAN THIS!

  “Not a very literate sort of threat, I’m afraid.” Ainsley shrugged as Dani looked at him over the slips of paper.

  “You take these seriously, Mr. Ainsley?” she asked.

  “I have to, Miss Ross,” he answered, “since two attempts have been made on my life.”

  Dani considered this, then deman
ded, “Tell me about these attempts.”

  Ainsley moved nervously in his chair. “I get a certain amount of crank mail, of course,” he admitted. “That’s what I thought these were at first, by the way. I got two more, but threw them away. Then, the day after I got the second, I was nearly run down while crossing a street.

  “It was quite deliberate,” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “I was crossing the street in front of my hotel. It was very early, and I heard the car start up just as I came out of the hotel. There was no other traffic, so I wasn’t paying too much attention. Well, I heard the engine of the car and glanced up to see it bearing down on me. I made a jump, and he swerved to hit me!” Ainsley took a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and passed it over his face. “The fender of the car caught my overcoat; I felt it plainly.”

  “I see,” Dani said. “Did you call the police?”

  “I had no proof.” Ainsley shrugged. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket. “No one saw the thing, you know. I told myself it was just a wild driver—but then I got another threat, the first one you have there, and I knew it was real.” He leaned back and stared across at Dani. “If I had any doubt at all, I lost it the next day. I was jogging early that morning in Central Park, and someone shot at me.”

  “But he missed?” Ben inserted suddenly.

  “Obviously!” Ainsley snapped. “Otherwise I would be dead.”

  “What kind of gun?” Dani asked. “Did you see the man who shot at you?”

  “Yes, to the last question. I heard a sound and felt a sort of whizzing noise. The bullet must have been close to my head. I didn’t know it was a bullet, of course. Not at first. Then I looked up and saw him. He was wearing a long coat and one of those Russian-style fur hats.”

  “Could you see his face?” Dani wanted to know.

  “No, he was too far away—and anyway, I didn’t look too hard.” Ainsley laughed shortly. “He had a gun in his hand, and he was taking aim at me again. I ducked behind a tree and started calling for help.”

  “Was it a rifle or a revolver?” Ben asked.

  “Oh some sort of handgun—but with a funny barrel. It had some sort of knob on the end of it.”

  “A silencer.” Dani nodded. “That was all you saw?”

  “Yes, and that was enough!” Ainsley said sharply. “Now, I knew I needed help. I’d read about your adventure with Maxwell Stone, so I decided to try you out. I could have gone to any detective agency in New York, of course. But you must understand—” Ainsley paused and gave the two of them a careful look. “Is there such a thing as privileged communication among private detectives—as there is among lawyers?”

  “Nothing you say will go any further,” Dani assured him.

  “Well, then—I must tell you that despite all you might think, I am in a fairly desperate position professionally.” He smiled grimly at the look of surprise on Dani’s face. “That does surprise you, I think.”

  “Yes, it does. You’ve done several plays and a movie or two.”

  “But none lately—and none of any moment since Climax.” A worried look touched Ainsley’s eyes. “Oh, I can still have just about any role I want on Broadway or in Hollywood—but really, who needs that. Every time I think of Hollywood, I think of what S. J. Perelman said about it: ‘A dreary industrial town controlled by hoodlums of enormous wealth, the ethical sense of a pack of jackals, and taste so degraded that it befouled everything it touched.’”

  “But the stage?” Dani suggested. “Surely there are some good roles for you there?”

  “Well, to be truthful, Miss Ross—or may I call you Dani?—thank you. Well there is one good role every year or so, and they are controlled by people with whom I have had difficulties.”

  “I see. Well, what play is this letter about, Mr. Ainsley?”

  “Jonathan, please.” Ainsley grew animated as he spoke, and both Dani and Ben saw that she had mentioned the one subject he was excited about. “It’s a new piece, one I wrote myself,” he told them. “I call it Out of the Night. Can you guess where the title comes from, Dani?”

  “Oh, I’d guess from ‘Invictus,’ by William Ernest Henley,” Dani suggested at once.

  “I thought you might know it.” Ainsley smiled. “Well, that poem is the spirit of my play. I know you are a Christian, Dani, and I fear you will not agree. But I am a humanist. I believe that man is his own god and must make his own destiny. Traditional morality is nothing to me, but I feel very strongly that man must pull himself up—and that he can do so. That’s what Henley meant in the last verse of the poem:

  It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate;

  I am the captain of my soul.

  He quoted the lines triumphantly, and Dani felt a thrill as his marvelous voice filled the room. “This play is as good as Climax, Dani,” he assured her. “It will bring me to the top of my profession again, fulfill my earlier promise. But it is a statement that I want to make. Man is making a mess of his own nest—and I want to protest that we are capable of better than that!”

  Dani studied Ainsley, then asked, “You want protection, I assume?”

  “No! I want more than that,” Ainsley demanded. “I want this maniac apprehended, Dani. I can’t live my life with him behind every tree, taking shots at me. Oh, I want to be protected, of course, but this madman must be put away.”

  “If someone is determined to get you, Mr. Ainsley,” Ben interrupted, “and if he doesn’t mind paying the price, there’s no way to stop him.”

  “Yes, Savage, I’ve been told that. But I am assuming that he can be found—and that Dani is the one to do it.”

  Dani wanted to leap at the chance, but she admitted, “You need around-the-clock protection, Jonathan. We’re not set up for that—and the play is in New York, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But I don’t want a bunch of big-footed security guards lurking all over the place. That’s why I came to you.” He moved over and put out his hand. Dani placed her own in his without thinking. “You see, I want someone looking out for me who won’t be noticed—and that’s you.”

  “But they’ll know I’m a detective!”

  “No, they won’t.” Ainsley smiled. “Because you’re going back with me to New York, not as Dani Ross, private investigator—but as Dani Morgan.”

  “You want me to go undercover?” Dani laughed suddenly. “I can’t do that, Jonathan. What would be my excuse for being around you all the time?”

  Ainsley’s white teeth gleamed. “You’ll be Danielle Morgan, costume lady—and actress. You must know that everyone has a part in my play, even the prop man.”

  “Me? Why, I’m no actress!”

  “Ah, but you are!” Ainsley pulled her closer. “I did some detective work myself, Dani, before I came to see you. I discovered you were in every play at Tulane, while you were there—and you were good, too!”

  “Oh, that was just college drama, Jonathan!” Dani protested.

  “But you love the theater, don’t you?” Ainsley pressed her hands. “And I must add that if this play does one hundredth of what I know it will, you’ll be paid for your services more than you could make anywhere else. Will you do it, Dani?”

  Her hands were held fast in his, and his eyes held her transfixed. She wanted to say that it was preposterous and absurd. She knew that her father would ask her if she had had a lobotomy—and her head swam with reasons for saying no firmly and at once.

  But she heard herself saying, “Yes! Yes, Jonathan, I’ll do it!”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, and she heard Ben Savage remark dryly, “Well, break a leg, Boss!”

  2

  “Just One, Big, Happy Family!”

  * * *

  “Well, there it is, Dani—the Pearl Theater,” Ainsley said. He reached to help her out of the cab, gesturing dramatically at the marquee that proclaimed Out of the Night in large, black letters. Underneath in only slightly sm
aller letters Dani read STARRING JONATHAN AINSLEY. Beneath that she read in very small type, ALSO FEATURING AMBER LEROI.

  As Dani stepped out of the cab, Jonathan asked, “Well, Danielle, all ready for your new career on the stage?”

  “Not really, Jonathan.” A sudden gust of cold air whipped down the narrow street, chilling her face. “I stayed awake most of last night, thinking how crazy the whole thing is.” She glanced up at the marquee, then down the paper-littered street toward Broadway. The glitz and glitter there seemed dimmed by bumper-to-bumper traffic and the endless sound of honking horns. “It’ll never work, Jonathan. My picture was in the papers when the Maxwell Stone story broke. Someone is sure to recognize me.”

  “Ah, but they won’t!” Ainsley opened one of the glass doors and led her through a darkened lobby, toward the inner doors. “One thing you must know about drama, Dani, it’s the art of making people see what you want them to see—not what’s actually in front of their eyes. That’s the way magicians fool people. They move their left hands so emphatically that you forget to watch their right hands—with which they do their real business.” He had stopped before entering the theater itself and reached out to grasp her arm. He was, Dani had discovered, a man who loved to touch others—at least he loved to touch her. His grasp on her arm was half caress, and sooner or later he would try to make love to her, she realized. But now he was only holding her with his hand as he held her with his voice, compelling her attention.

  “And you have no idea how self-centered we actors are! I doubt that any of the cast did more than read a brief story about your business with Maxwell Stone. We were all too busy with Variety, wondering who’s producing what and so forth. Even if someone did see you on TV or see your picture, you’ve got a new name and a new appearance. Why, I hardly knew you when you got off the plane last Monday!”

  Before he’d left her office they had agreed on the name Danielle Morgan. Dani had argued, “People will be calling me by my first name. If we change it to Helen or something else, I’ll miss it.” They had also agreed that she should change her appearance as much as possible, and Dani had spent considerable time on that.