The caretaker grunted. ‘Bad work,’ he said sourly. Obviously, he was no fan of Gopallawa’s mechanics. Perhaps the feeling was mutual.
‘Did you bring the mechanics who mended this down here by the same route we came by just now?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sahib.’
‘How many people are needed to operate the machine?’
‘It is best with two, but one man can do it alone if necessary.’
‘Who worked it on the evening of the performance?’
‘I did, sahib, with Sahib Raikes.’
‘Has anyone else been down to look at it?’
‘The one with the thin face who does not speak.’
Ah, Sheridan again, but then he had played the ghost of Hamlet’s father, so it would be natural to want to familiarise himself with the contraption in advance. He cast around for anything else worth asking. ‘Would it be possible for anyone to operate it and go up on stage by themselves?’
Prathiv cackled and said something to the caretaker in rapid Tamil. De Silva didn’t catch all the words but he understood enough to know that the remark would have been highly unsuitable if ladies had been present.
The caretaker stifled a laugh. ‘It would not be safe at all, sahib, but maybe possible.’
Perhaps he could rule out the murderer making use of that route unless he or she had help, quite apart from the problem of getting down to the cellar in the first place.
The dank air didn’t invite him to linger, but he wanted to be thorough. ‘Before we go, you’d better show me this end of the passages we were talking about earlier,’ he said.
It didn’t take many minutes to establish that, even if the doors on the dressing room corridors were brought back into use, neither of the passages would have been passable without moving several tons of fallen masonry and, to hide one’s tracks, they would have to be replaced afterwards. As he brushed the dust from his hair, de Silva wondered what had possessed him to come on this expedition. It would have been excellent experience for Nadar.
‘Anything else to show me?’ he asked Prathiv and the caretaker. The men looked at each other and shook their heads.
They retraced their steps to the caretaker’s room. De Silva’s mood improved with the fresher air and he relented and gave both men a tip for their efforts. He noticed that old Prathiv eyed the caretaker’s tip sharply. No doubt it wouldn’t be long before he suggested another game of dice.
As he strolled out to the Morris, de Silva consoled himself that the afternoon hadn’t been entirely wasted. At least he had a slightly better understanding of the theatre now. And in the light of that understanding, it seemed more important than ever to question Kathleen Danforth and her maid.
His thoughts went back to Jane’s theory. Was it really too farfetched that all of the cast had conspired to murder Danforth? It could explain away the difficulties. He frowned. But would there have been time to commit the murder? Possibly. Suppose the caretaker had been involved and lied about the time some people went to the green room? Nadar had already said that the man was known to be a gambler and untrustworthy. Might debts make him malleable? Or perhaps he simply wasn’t as vigilant as he professed to be. That was perfectly possible.
A pair of langur monkeys leapt off the bonnet of the Morris and scattered as he approached. He shook his fist then turned anxiously to inspect his beloved car. The wretches were fond of shiny things and the chrome fittings might have tempted them.
He had just satisfied himself that there was no damage when he heard a voice behind him. He turned to see the caretaker. Now what? He doubted he was going to hear a sudden confession of guilt.
The man cast a glance over his shoulder then his eyes returned to de Silva.
‘Have you something else to tell me?’
The man hesitated.
‘Out with it then.’
‘It may be nothing, sahib.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
The caretaker’s eyes slid to de Silva’s pocket. He felt a surge of irritation.
‘Do you understand that I can arrest you for hiding something that might be important?’ he snapped.
The caretaker looked chastened. ‘Forgive me, sahib.’
‘So, what is this you wanted to tell me?’
‘I saw a man outside the theatre one evening. It was before Sahib Danforth was killed.’
De Silva raised an eyebrow. ‘I expect you see many men outside the theatre. Was there anything unusual about this one?’
‘I had gone to put something outside the stage door when I saw him in the shadows. He didn’t notice me at first. He looked as if he might want to come in, but when I went out to ask what he wanted, he didn’t speak and hurried away.’
‘Did you see his face?’
The caretaker shook his head. ‘Not clearly.’
‘Was he short or tall?’
The caretaker indicated a point a few inches above de Silva’s head.
‘Thin or fat?’
The caretaker held his hands wide apart. ‘Big, and a white man, I think, sahib. He was dressed in British clothes. I did not see his face but he was holding something behind his back.’
‘Did he come again?’
‘No, sahib.’
De Silva sighed. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. ‘Well, if he does, make sure you get a better look. And then tell me.’
The caretaker looked downcast. ‘Yes, sahib.’
De Silva watched him go back into the theatre. He wondered if the tip was already in old Prathiv’s pocket. The caretaker would have to do better than some vague story about a loitering man if he was hoping for another one.
He started the engine and put the Morris into gear. He looked forward to getting home and unburdening himself to Jane over a cup of tea in the garden.
Chapter 9
‘Perhaps you’ll be able to catch Archie on his own and have a word with him,’ Jane said encouragingly.
The Morris bowled along the leafy lanes that led to the cricket ground; afternoon sun filtered through banana trees and coconut palms, glinting off its smart navy paintwork. De Silva’s fingertips beat out an irritable rhythm on the steering wheel.
‘I hope so. Danforth was killed on Tuesday and now it’s Saturday. Naturally, his widow and his mistress, if that’s what Emerald Watson really is, will still be very distressed, but is it reasonable to deny me access to them for so long? I’d like to think that Archie places some faith in my ability to be tactful.’
‘I expect he does, dear. But this has come as a shock to everyone.’
‘Murder has a way of doing that.’
Jane sighed. ‘Don’t be tetchy, Shanti. You know what I mean.’
‘Sorry.’
She patted his arm. ‘I must say, I was quite surprised that the cricket wasn’t cancelled, but according to Florence, Kathleen Danforth was most insistent that things shouldn’t change on her account. She won’t be here, of course, but it’s good of her to take that line at a time like this.’
‘The famous British stiff upper lip?’
‘It is one way of getting through these terrible occurrences, dear. Although I understand that Mrs Danforth is Irish, as her husband was, and they tend not to be as phlegmatic as the English. It must be their Gaelic blood.’
‘And have you discovered anything new about Emerald Watson?’
‘She’s from somewhere in the Home Counties I believe, and she hasn’t been on the stage long. Peggy Appleby probably knows more about her. You could try speaking to her. As I think I’ve told you, she and Emerald have become good friends.’
‘I’d far rather speak to the lady herself.’
‘Well, let’s hope Archie will unbend before too long.’
‘It would be a relief.’
The cricket ground was already busy. Play started at eleven, but de Silva had wanted to spend an hour or two in his garden before he and Jane came out. He’d felt in need of some time with his plants. Unlike humans, vegetables and flowers w
ere refreshingly free of idle curiosity. He hoped he wasn’t going to have to fend off a lot of questions about the murder and how he was progressing with finding the culprit. By now it was inevitable that it would be a hot topic of conversation around town, and he wasn’t much comforted by Jane’s assurance that people were far more likely to be talking about the news from England that the King planned to marry his American mistress.
They found a parking place and headed for the pitch, arriving just in time to see Doctor Hebden go in to bat. The teams were both drawn from Nuala’s own players and de Silva saw that his sergeant was bowling and Constable Nadar fielding at short leg.
‘Ah good,’ said Jane, shielding her eyes against the sun. ‘There’s still room in the covered stand. We won’t have to manage without shade. But I brought a parasol, just in case.’
De Silva pointed to a row of big-bellied clouds in the far distance. ‘You might be needing it later. We could have a splosh of rain.’
‘A splash, dear. Although splosh is very expressive. It makes me think of children jumping in puddles. You know, when I came to Ceylon, I thought it only rained during the monsoon. It was quite a surprise to find that there was some rain in between.’
‘Just as well, or the garden would be harder to care for.’
‘Oh look, talking of Peggy Appleby, there she is with her husband. And I do believe that’s Miss Watson with them.’
De Silva scrutinised the three people she pointed to – a plump, fair-haired young woman in a fuchsia frock; a tall man in the ubiquitous cream linen suit and panama hat of the British in Ceylon, and another young woman. Yes, it was Emerald Watson.
‘Peggy must have persuaded her to come.’ Jane frowned. ‘Shanti, do you really think that she was Danforth’s mistress? I don’t want to sound prim and I know these things happen, but I’d be surprised if Peggy knows.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I doubt she would be so friendly if she did. The Applebys are a very conventional couple. I think Peggy would be shocked.’
‘Then she probably doesn’t know and I only have the word of the men in the company for it. They may have their reasons for wanting me to think that Danforth and Miss Watson were having an affair.’
‘What would they be?’
‘They might want to divert suspicion from themselves by putting it in my mind that Kathleen Danforth had good reason to want her husband punished, maybe using Paul Mayne to help her do so.’
‘But you told me you can’t see how he would get to Danforth’s room unobserved.’
He sucked air through his teeth. ‘That’s a problem.’
Jane glanced at the tea tent where a bevy of Nuala’s ladies dressed in floral finery were busy with large enamelled teapots and hot water urns. ‘It looks like tea won’t be long. We’d better find a place to sit if we want to see anything beforehand.’
Although he usually enjoyed watching cricket, it didn’t hold de Silva’s attention that day. He was more interested in observing the Applebys’ little party. The husband looked absorbed by the game, but his wife was obviously more concerned with their guest. Peggy Appleby’s blonde curls glinted in the sunshine as she talked. Emerald Watson, on the other hand, seemed to have little to say. De Silva wondered whether he should try to engineer a chance meeting in the tea interval but decided against it. In such a public place, it would be impossible to do anything but make small talk, and there was a distinct chance even that would get back to Clutterbuck and arouse his wrath. No point in doing so without a good reason.
When play stopped for tea, he noticed that David Hebden lost no time in joining the Applebys’ group as they strolled towards the tea tent.
‘Do you see what I see?’ Jane whispered as they joined the crowd heading in the same direction. ‘Doctor Hebden is definitely taking an interest in Miss Watson’s welfare and I’m sure it’s not just professional.’
‘Well, whatever it is, I’d prefer not to meet them just at the moment.’
‘I suppose that’s wise. It’s hardly the time to ask Emerald Watson anything.’
‘Quite.’
Jane shaded her eyes. ‘Oh look, there’s Florence coming this way with Archie in tow. I’m afraid it’s too late if you want to avoid them too.’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary. Perhaps an afternoon of cricket will have put Archie in a mellower mood than last time we spoke. Would you try and steer Florence away and give me a chance to raise the subject of the ladies again?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
She waved. ‘Florence! How nice to see you, and dear little Angel too,’ she added, beaming at the furry bundle tucked under Florence’s arm. ‘He’s fully recovered, I hope?’ She patted the little dog’s head.
‘Good afternoon, Jane. He has, thank you.’ Florence turned to de Silva. ‘We’ve had such a time of it, Inspector. Angel escaped for a few hours and it took four of the servants and all the gardeners to find him.’
De Silva suppressed a chuckle at the idea of ten grown men pursuing a small, recalcitrant dog. It must have looked like a scene out of the Keystone Cops.
‘I’m sorry to hear it, ma’am, but very relieved he was found. I trust he came to no harm.’
‘Luckily not, but I’ve given the servant who let him slip his collar a severe reprimand.’
Possibly the servant had greater need of sympathy than his escaping charge, thought de Silva.
Archie Clutterbuck had stopped to speak to someone but now joined them. He greeted Jane with a smile but de Silva sensed that his own welcome was not quite so warm.
Jane put a hand on Florence’s arm. ‘I’m so glad we met. If you can spare me a few moments, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the church flower rota for the Christmas display.’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘I’m not sure that the vicar’s wife has arranged enough people for it. I’d speak to her myself but you will do it so much better than I could.’
With concealed amusement, de Silva observed how Florence’s nostrils flared like a warhorse’s at the bugle call to battle. As Jane drew her away, he took a deep breath.
Archie Clutterbuck raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t need a crystal ball to tell me what you’re going to ask, de Silva,’ he said in a low voice. ‘My diary’s been crammed full to bursting for the last few days but I’m aware I’ve been neglecting this Danforth business. Here isn’t the place to discuss it though.’
‘Of course, but I would like to fix a meeting to do so as soon as possible, sir.’
‘Very well,’ Clutterbuck said with a sigh. ‘You’d better come up to the Residence tomorrow morning. Half past eight. Will that satisfy you?’
De Silva frowned. He found the assistant government agent’s attitude increasingly puzzling. It was almost as if this death in their midst was a tiresome distraction from more important matters. Clutterbuck was right though, this wasn’t the place to go into detail. A Sunday morning meeting would have to satisfy him.
Chapter 10
The morning air was still pleasantly cool as de Silva parked the Morris on the gravel sweep in front of the Residence and climbed out. No gardeners were at work and the only sounds were the liquid calls of birds in the trees. Refreshed by their night-time respite from the heat of the sun, geraniums, marigolds, petunias, and begonias stood to attention in the formal flowerbeds. He would have enjoyed the sight if he hadn’t been apprehensive about the reception he was about to receive.
The servant who answered the door let him in and ushered him into the small room off the hall. Anticipating a long wait, de Silva picked up one of the old motoring magazines lying on the table and flicked through, but not many minutes passed before the servant returned to say Clutterbuck was waiting for him in his study.
De Silva stood up, straightening his jacket. ‘Thank you.’
In the study, Darcy, Clutterbuck’s elderly Labrador, lumbered up from his place by his master’s feet and came to greet him. De Silva fondled the dog’s ears. At least someone
was pleased to see him.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Good morning, Inspector.’ Clutterbuck didn’t rise from behind his desk. ‘Well, you’d better take a chair and fill me in.’
De Silva sat down opposite. The light from the window behind his boss’s head cast it into shadow. In front of him, the desktop displayed the accoutrements of a busy colonial administrator, combined with mementos of Clutterbuck’s leisure interests: an ashtray decorated with a picture of a leaping salmon; a small bronze statue of a hunter squinting through the sights of his rifle, and a silver trophy engraved with the words The Royal Nuala Golf Club Championship 1932. It was a world away from the life of an actor in a travelling theatre company.
‘I understand you interviewed the men at their hotel,’ Clutterbuck went on. ‘Unfortunate I wasn’t able to be present but I’m sure you did a good job without me.’
This was a promising start at least. Perhaps the meeting was going to be less fractious than he had feared.
‘Have you come up with any leads?’
‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’
‘Hmm,’ mused Clutterbuck when he explained about the layout of the theatre, the security measures, and the caretaker’s claim that he was always at his post, except for the rare occasions when his predecessor took over from him.
‘Do you believe the man? Did he seem trustworthy?’
‘I would describe him more as slippery. My constable knows a little about him and says he is a gambler and very boastful.’
‘I see; so, he might be willing to turn a blind eye if someone didn’t want it known they had crossed the lobby for a nefarious purpose.’
‘It’s a possibility, but he may be telling the truth. If so, that leaves only Mrs Danforth, and perhaps her maid, at the same end of the theatre at the time in question. That is why I am most anxious to interview them.’
A thunderous expression darkened Clutterbuck’s face.
Offstage in Nuala Page 9
