Sonnet to a Dead Contessa (8 page)

“I believe that too. I’m sure many men do.”

“Not so many as you might think,” Serafina said. “Women have a difficult time in many ways.”

Suddenly Ellie was back. “Superintendent Grant is here, ma’am. He wants to see you and Mr. Tremayne.”

Serafina and Dylan exchanged glances. “Show him in at once, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as Matthew Grant entered, Serafina saw that he was troubled. “What is it, Matthew? Is it a new development in the murder case?”

Matthew sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid so, and this is not a pleasant one. It’s you I’ve come to see, really, Dylan. I was told you would be here.”

“To see me? About what?”

“We have been running down this multitude of clues, and we made a rather unpleasant discovery.”

“Unpleasant? In what way?” Dylan asked.

“The knife that killed Lady Welles belonged to you,” Matthew said directly. “It’s the knife that you use in the play, you know, when Macbeth kills the king.”

Serafina sat alert, and she turned to Dylan. “Where’d you keep the knife?”

“Why, with the other costumes. It was missing a few nights ago. I don’t remember exactly when. I was ready to go onstage, and suddenly I realised that the knife was gone, and I had to get the prop man to find me another one quickly.”

“Will he testify to that?”

“Why, of course he will.”

“You surely don’t suspect Dylan, Matthew?”

“No, of course not. It’s just another one of these fantastic things. First we find the Victoria Cross belonging to a national hero at the crime scene, and now a prominent actor’s knife is found there.”

“Anyone could have taken that knife. The door’s not locked, and people do come and take souvenirs.”

“Well, the unfortunate thing is,” Matthew said grimly, “a fool of a policeman let it slip that the knife belonged to you, that it was part of the costume you wear in the play. So you can depend on it—tomorrow you will be in the news, and then I’ll have to contend with Lord Herbert, who is raving like a maniac for an arrest already.”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“Certainly not, but I just wanted to prepare you for what’s going to come.” He turned to say, “Lady Trent, have you made any headway with that list I gave you?”

“No, not really. If I ever saw a random list in my life, that was it. Whoever killed the woman had to have collected these things and brought them, somehow, when he came to do the murder.”

“He must be insane,” Matthew said, “but then, I suppose in some way all murderers are not quite sane.”

The three stood there talking as Matthew asked the standard questions. Then he turned and said, “I’d like to see Dora before I leave.”

“She’s out in the back in the garden, Matthew. Let us know if anything happens.”

“Of course I will.”

As soon as Matthew left, Serafina turned to Dylan and said with a troubled look on her face, “This is bad, Dylan. You know how the newspapers are.”

“And the public. Nothing more fickle than the public. A hero today, a murder suspect tomorrow.”

“This murderer has already drawn two suspects: General Hunter and you. I wish it hadn’t happened.”

“God will sort it all out.”

Serafina was struck, as she always was, at Dylan’s calm insistence that God was in everything that happened to him. She did not argue any longer and had actually learnt to admire his stead-fast conviction. Now she shook her head and said, “What I’m worried about is that in the note he left, he said he’d strike again. That will be hanging over our heads.”

The two stood there for a moment, and then Dylan said heavily, “I think I’d better be going. Tomorrow won’t be very enjoyable after the papers come out.”

“Come back when you can. David misses you constantly.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.” He suddenly reached out his hand in an unusual gesture, and she took it. He squeezed it slightly and said, “Be cautious,
Serafina, but don’t worry. God’s going to take care of all of us.”

FIVE

T
he face of Sir Herbert Welles was flushed with anger, and his voice was pitched high as he spoke to Matthew Grant. He had come into Grant’s office making demands again, this time about Tremayne, and Grant, knowing the power in the hands of members of the House of Lords, had managed to keep his temper.

“Your work is not acceptable, Superintendent,” Welles said, biting the words off as sharply as if he used a knife. “You should have made an arrest by this time. What have you been doing sitting in your office while a murderer is roaming the streets of London?”

“Perhaps you don’t understand how difficult the situation is, Lord Herbert. It’s always difficult to catch a murderer like this, but this one is especially a problem.”

“What’s the problem? You found the murder weapon, and you found the man who owns it,” Welles shouted, his voice tight with strain. “Arrest the man! I demand it!”

Carefully Grant spoke, keeping his voice on an even plane. “I know you’ve been reading the newspapers, and I’m well aware that they are agitating for us to arrest Dylan Tremayne. But I can’t do that, sir.”

“You made that very obvious, and it’s clear enough why you won’t arrest him.”

“I won’t arrest him because there’s not enough evidence to do so.”

“That’s not true, and you bloody well know it! You won’t arrest him because he’s your friend.” Welles nodded vehemently. “You think I didn’t know about that? Well, I do! He even stayed at your house for a time. That’s the reason you won’t arrest him.”

“I would arrest anyone if I had sufficient evidence.”

“You have evidence.”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“The knife belonged to the man. You’ve proven that. I read that in the papers.”

“Yes, the knife belonged to him, or at least it belonged to the theatrical company of which he is a member. They own all of the costumes and all of the ‘props,’ as they are called. It was not a personal possession.”

“But he had access to it. He carried it on the stage.”

“Yes, Sir Herbert, he carried it on the stage. That’s what it was there for. I spoke to Mr. Elliot, the producer of the play. The knife actually belonged to his brother, Thomas. He had borrowed it for use in the play that Mr. Tremayne is now acting in.”

“But it was in his possession.”

“Not in the sense you mean.”

“What are you talking about? He had the knife. Everybody knows that.”

“The reporters of newspapers are rather simplistic, so let me explain—”

“You had better. I’ve been talking to the home secretary, and I’ve demanded action on this. Now, what have you to say for yourself?”

“In the first place, Sir Herbert, the knife was kept in Tremayne’s dressing room, and the door was never locked. Anyone could have come in at almost any time and taken that knife, and I’m convinced that’s what happened.”

“You have no evidence of that.”

“No, but I do have evidence of where Dylan Tremayne was on the night that your wife was murdered.” He waited for Welles to speak, and when Welles simply stared at him in disbelief, he said, “We checked his movements very carefully. He was, of course, on stage until ten o’clock, at which time the play was over. He went out to eat with some of his fellow actors, and they were together until eleven thirty.”

“They have lied for him, of course.”

“No, sir, they would not lie for him, not those that I have mentioned. We checked not only the actors but others who were present. One of them was Lord Cherbourg. I’m sure you’re familiar with his record. Lord Cherbourg said that Mr. Tremayne was with him until eleven thirty.”

“But the papers say that my wife was killed sometime between midnight and eight in the morning.”

“That’s true.”

“Then this actor fellow would have had plenty of time to come to my house, break in, and kill my wife.”

“What would his motive be?”

“He’s a maniac. I’ve had threats before, Superintendent.”

“Well, as far as I can ascertain, there was no motive. Your wife did go backstage and congratulate Tremayne, but she remained only for a few moments and then left. That’s when Tremayne went out for supper.”

“But after the supper he would have had plenty of time.”

“Yes, sir, he would have had time, but we know exactly where he was all that night.”

“What does the man claim? I suppose he has some lying actors, low-class people, to swear he was with them.”

Grant ground his teeth together. “He was at the Water Street Mission from midnight until the next morning.”

“The Water Street Mission? That’s some sort of work carried on for drunks and harlots, isn’t it?”

“It’s a Christian organization. They try to feed and care for those who are unfortunate, yes.”

“I refuse to believe that you are such a simpleton, Grant! You’re going to take the word of those people? You’re not fit to be superintendent of Scotland Yard!”

“Dr. Able Matson was there all night. I have his sworn statement that Dylan Tremayne never left the side of a dying man that Dr. Matson was treating. I suppose you have heard of Dr. Matson?”

Sir Herbert opened his mouth to speak but found that he had nothing to say. Dr. Able Matson was a nobleman and actually could have the title “Sir” before his name, but he preferred “Dr.” All of London knew of his work, and his reputation was spotless.

“I refuse to accept this. I’m going to look into it further. I’ll have a word with Dr. Matson myself.”

“If you choose. I have his sworn statement if you’d care to read that.”

“I’ll speak to the doctor himself, and I’m warning you. I’m expecting results from you, Superintendent, and soon!”

The door slammed as Welles left, and Matthew Grant went slowly back to his desk and sat down. He would have liked to have struck a mighty blow right between the eyes of Sir Herbert Welles, but he had more control of himself than that. He sat there waiting until finally he calmed and then went to the door and called out, “Kenzie, come in here, please.”

He went back to his seat as Sergeant Kenzie entered and said, “I heard most of what was said. It was rather stupid, if you ask me.”

“Don’t let the reporters hear you say that about a member of the House of Lords—however true it might be.”

“Of course not, sir.”

Grant leaned forward and said quietly, “Kenzie, I’m giving you an assignment. I want you to go find out everything you can about Lord Herbert Welles and about his wife. Dig deep. Talk to the servants. Anyone who might know something.”

Kenzie nodded at once. “You suspect him?”

“I think he’s overreacting, Kenzie. A man would be upset about the death of his wife, but from all I’ve heard of Sir Herbert Welles, this behaviour is not typical. I think he’s putting on some kind of a show, and I want to know why. Get right to it.”

“Tell us about the knife, Mr. Tremayne!”

Dylan had just stepped out of his carriage in front of the Old Vic. He found himself surrounded by a group of reporters, all of them shouting questions at him. This was not new, but he was sick of the whole thing. “No comment!” he snapped and pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the pleas.

As soon as he stepped inside, he was greeted by Charles Elliot, the producer of the play. “I suppose you’re sick of all that, Dylan.” Elliot shook his head. “The newspapers wouldn’t know truth if it bit them on the nose.”

“I suppose that’s the way they make their living.”

Elliot was staring at Dylan cautiously. “I wasn’t at all sure you’d come.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s going to be embarrassing when you go on the stage after the stories in the paper. We’ve already sold out every ticket, and they’re not coming to see
Macbeth
either. They’re coming to see the man to whom the newspapers have done everything but called ‘The Slasher.’” Elliot came forward and put his hand on Tremayne’s shoulder. “Are you sure you can do it, Dylan? It’s going to be like throwing you to the wolves.”

Dylan shrugged. “I’m the same man I was. It’s my job, and I’ll do it.”

“Well, I’ve assigned some people to keep them away from your dressing room at least—the reporters, I mean.”

“Thanks, Charles, that’ll be a help.” Dylan turned and started toward his dressing room. He stepped inside, but before he could even remove his coat, a woman came in. Lilly Clairmont, who played the role of Lady Macbeth, was older than she looked. She had cared for herself, so she was still able to act in younger roles.

“Hello, Dylan.”

“Hello, Lilly.”

“I saw the reporters out there like a pack of wolves. Why don’t you deck a couple of them? That would discourage the others.”

Dylan suddenly smiled. He liked Lilly. She was no better than she should be as far as men were concerned, but she was a good actress, and after trying Dylan’s virtue, she had settled for friendship.

“I don’t think that would be the answer.”

Lilly came forward, and there was concern on her face. “We have a full house.”

“So Charles told me.”

“They won’t be lovers of Shakespeare either, most of them. Can you do it, Dylan?”

“I’ll do my best. It’s my job.”

“Have they found out where you live yet?”

“Oh yes, I can’t get to the place. They hide and jump out popping questions at me.”