“There are few secrets kept among actors,” Vickery said.

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Kimball muttered.

  “From this I think we can say that, as everyone here potentially had access to the murder weapon, we cannot use ‘means’ as a way to determine who might be innocent and who guilty,” Vickery said. “And so we must turn to motive and opportunity. Motivation we all understand to be the reason or reasons why a person is driven to take a particular action. And by ‘opportunity’ we mean could a person have been in the location where the murder took place at the time it was committed. If a person can show that they were in a different place at the time, if they have an alibi, we can say that they lacked opportunity, and so cannot be guilty. Correct, Inspector?”

  “Well, I think you’ve simplified things a bit, but I think you have the gist of it,” the Inspector said.

  Vickery gave the slightest of bows in the Inspector’s direction, then continued.

  “Most of the guests were watching Mr. Kimball’s performance of Hamlet at midnight. Four people were absent: Leo Fulbright, Margot McCrae, Veronica Fulbright, and Artie Delancey. The rest of the guests could all see each other in the entrance hall at the time the murder is said to have taken place, so none of them can have committed the murder.”

  Those who had been exonerated looked at each other with a sense of relief, and avoided looking at the those who had not been. 

  Inspector Debney broke the silence.

  “When he examined the body, Doctor Cole found this clasped in Miss Trenton’s hand.” Debney held up a short length of gold chain. “Could you tell us what this is, Mr. Fulbright?”

  “It is a piece of watch chain,” Fulbright said.

  “From any particular pocket watch?” The Inspector asked.

  Fulbright glared at him. “From my pocket watch,” he finally admitted.

  “Continuing with our account of what seemed to have happened, then,” Vickery said. “Miss Trenton was stabbed with the sword, and as she fell backwards into the pond, she reached out and grabbed Mr. Fulbright’s watch chain, tearing a piece from it. In his haste to flee the scene, Mr. Fulbright was apparently not aware that this damning piece of evidence had been left behind.

  “Mr. Fulbright then hid the sword, and came out to the pond just after everyone else, and pretended to be as shocked as we were by what had happened.”

  Vickery paused for a moment and looked around the room. No one was looking in Leo Fulbright’s direction. He sat with his arms crossed, staring up at Vickery from under knitted brows.

  “Mr. Fulbright thought everything had gone perfectly, until he became aware that Artie Delancey knew something he shouldn’t. Perhaps Artie saw Mr. Fulbright fleeing the scene, or perhaps he saw him hiding the bloodied sword. Whatever it was, Artie was now a threat to him, and to protect himself, Mr. Fulbright knew that Artie Delancey would have to be silenced. Forever.”

  “What about the attempt on Leo’s life?” Bannister asked.

  “It was faked,” Inspector Debney said. “Mr. Fulbright had an accomplice fire the crossbow at him. He believed that this would make people think of him as an intended victim, in which case they would not think he could be Eleanor Trenton’s murderer.”

  “And Leo’s motive?” Margot asked.

  “Eleanor Trenton had become an embarrassment to him,” the Inspector said. “She had refused to become his lover, and she had proved herself a less than gifted actress when the cameras started rolling.”

  “It may not immediately be apparent, but Leo Fulbright benefits financially from the murder of Eleanor Trenton,” Vickery said. “At first it would appear that her death is a terrible loss, perhaps the motion picture will not now be completed. But what if Eleanor’s presence in the film had turned out to be a liability rather than an asset? Particularly when the much-anticipated romance between Mr. Fulbright and his new leading lady seemed to have fizzled even before filming was complete, taking with it all the much-desired publicity.

  “To protect his film, his own reputation and future prosperity, perhaps Leo Fulbright felt he must remove this danger? His motivation was a mixture of personal gain, unrequited love, and self-protection.”

  “That’s absolute rot!” Fulbright exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “I’m warning you, Vickery...”

  “Warning me or threatening me, Mr. Fulbright?” Vickery asked.

  Fulbright had the sense to realise that he wasn’t helping his cause, and sat down.

  “Eleanor Trenton had placed Mr. Fulbright in an embarrassing situation,” Inspector Debney said. “As we are all now aware, he is a man with a violent temper, someone who must always have his own way, and so we can imagine how he might react if he felt Miss Trenton was making him look like a fool.”

  “Leo Fulbright appears to have all the prime requisites of a murderer,” Vickery said. “He had access to the means, a plausible motive, and—being absent from the rest of the group at midnight—the opportunity. He seems to fit the bill perfectly.

  “I would say that it makes Leo Fulbright look like a clumsy murderer, and a fool for not establishing an alibi for himself for the time of the murder, but his guilt does seem plain enough.”

  “An untrained mind might accept all of this at face value,” Inspector Debney said, without a trace of irony. “After all, this version of events seems to fit all of the available facts.”

  “Except that it doesn’t,” Vickery said. “There are facts that do not fit into this version of events. On the night of the murder, I saw Leo Fulbright pick something up from the mud near the pond.” Vickery held up the red cloth-covered button. “Where did this come from?”

  “It’s from Eleanor’s dress,” Linette said.

  “It is the same colour as her dress, but the dress she was wearing had no buttons on it. Mr. Malloy and I found another red dress in Miss Trenton’s wardrobe, and this one does have a button missing from it. But how did the button get down to the edge of the pond? It can’t have been torn off when Eleanor struggled with her murderer.”

  “And then there’s the sack,” Inspector Debney prompted. 

  Constable Brierly held up the hessian sack, which was now quite dry.

  “Another of Mr. Malloy’s discoveries,” Vickery said. “I asked him to search the pond to see if the sword had been thrown in there. He did not find Excalibur, but he did find this potato sack. As you can see, the printing on the sack is quite legible: it had not been in the pond for very long before it was retrieved. Why was it there?”

  “Then we have the dresses,” Inspector Debney said.

  “Yes, dear Artie Delancey had come down for the weekend with two dresses and three pairs of shoes. Even if he had intended to appear en femme, why bring more than one outfit?”

  “And why bring along red shoes if he didn’t have a matching red dress?” The Inspector added.

  “None of these things are explained by our account of what seems to have happened,” Vickery said. “We cannot simply discard the facts that don’t fit in with our theory, we must instead seek a theory that explains all of the facts.”

  “Then I am not guilty after all?” Fulbright asked.

  “I did not go so far as to say that,” Vickery said. “But I would say that the case against you is not as clear-cut as someone would like us to believe. For me, the thing that throws doubt on Mr. Fulbright’s guilt is this piece of physical evidence.”

  Vickery held up the section of watch chain. The Inspector seemed surprised to see it in Vickery’s hand, he patted his jacket pockets and scowled.

  “A damning clue,” Vickery said, “but a rather too obvious one. We are meant to believe that in a violent struggle, Leo Fulbright was not aware of this being torn from him. And further, that on undressing later he either did not see that the piece was missing, unlikely in a man whose vanity results in an obsessive interest in his own appearance. Or perhaps having stood in front of the mirror and noticed it, he was unconcerned about where this fragment might be found. No, I cannot believe this: a man who kills for reasons of self-preservation does not make such a careless mistake. 

  “One further fact: the ends of this piece of chain have been neatly cut, there is no sign of the stretching that would occur if it had been pulled free. This chain was placed in the victim’s hand deliberately, to focus our attention on Mr. Fulbright, and away from clues which might identify the real murderer. In planting this clue, our villain has over-egged the pudding, so to speak.”

  “You’re saying that a clue that points to Fulbright’s guilt actually proves him innocent?” Garvin asked.

  “It is not proof of his innocence, but it does rather steer our inquiry onto another track,” Vickery said. “The planting of the broken chain becomes a clue of another kind. It tells us that the murderer wanted Eleanor Trenton dead, and also wished to see Leo Fulbright accused of her murder, and perhaps hanged for it. Our next question becomes: Who might wish to see both Mr. Fulbright and Miss Trenton punished?”

  “Me, of course,” Margot said.

  Vickery nodded. “We do not take that as an admission of guilt, but as a new hypothesis which must be tested.

  “Margot McCrae is Fulbright’s long-suffering wife, and until recently his leading lady in a number of successful theatre productions. But now she finds herself replaced, both in the spotlight and, it would appear, in her husband’s affections. Who could fail to feel scorned and angry in such circumstances? Who would not wish to punish both the betraying husband and the new-found object of his affections?”

  “I won’t pretend that I haven’t wished them both dead,” Margot said, “and I have said it out loud more than once.”

  “That is so,” Vickery said. “You have made no secret of your feelings, to have done so would have been disingenuous, and might have drawn more attention than would giving vent to them.

  “We have personal and professional jealousy, then, and also a financial motive, perhaps, with Leo Fulbright seeking to risk your joint finances in the making of a moving picture.”

  “I wasn’t stupid enough to let him risk my money,” Margot said, “only his own.”

  “But you did tell him that you might provide funding to allow him to finish the film—on one condition?” Vickery said.

  “On a number of conditions, actually,” Margot said. “But one specifically.”

  “Which was?”

  “Leo must get rid of Eleanor Trenton and allow me to play Guinevere.”

  “Did he agree to this when you first suggested it?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Did you tell Miss Trenton that you intended to replace her as the queen?”

  “I did.”

  “What was her reaction?” Vickery asked.

  “She said: Over my dead body!” 

  Chapter 21

  “Those were her exact words?” Vickery asked.

  “You overheard them, you know they were. Dickie heard them too, I believe.”

  Dickie Bannister blushed.

  “Did you kill Eleanor Trenton?” Vickery asked.

  “Did I kill her because I wanted a role in a second-rate motion picture, and because Leo was having one of his brief flings with her? I did not.”

  “No, I do not believe you would kill her for those reasons,” Vickery said. “Tell us about your riding accident, please.”

  “Now? What has that got to—”

  “Indulge me, if you would.”

  “I don’t see how—”

  “Please,” Vickery insisted.

  Margot sighed. “I’ve told this story a hundred times or more, I’m sure everyone has heard it.”

  “I think some here are more familiar with the circumstances than others,” Vickery said.

  Margot McCrae seemed uncharacteristically reluctant to be the centre of attention, perhaps because the story she was being asked to tell was an uncomfortable one, both physically and figuratively.

  “It happened in late November,” Margot began.

  “That would be eighteen months ago?” Vickery prompted.

  “About that, yes. I had gone out to Whitestoke, we stable the horses there, for the weekend. I wanted to get away from the city for a while.”

  “Did Leo accompany you that weekend?”

  “No. Leo is only ever a fair-weather rider. And he was one of the things I wanted to get away from.”

  “You had quarrelled?”

  “We always quarrelled, Benjamin, you know that.”

  “This time you had quarrelled about Eleanor Trenton?”

  “I didn’t know that was her name. But I knew Leo had started pursuing someone. I wasn’t sure how far this new dalliance had progressed, didn’t want to know. I just needed a break from it. Horses are so much more dependable than people.”

  “But they can be dangerous,” Vickery said.

  “I don’t blame poor Hector for what happened. He was spooked by someone. He had to be—put down after the accident, he injured himself terribly trying to leap a stone wall.”

  “Had Hector ever bolted before, or thrown you?”

  “Never. He was a beautiful, placid creature, no temper at all. I’d had him a few years, he and I were quite used to each other. But as I am sure I told you, he was startled when that old woman appeared on the path in front of us. Hector reared up—I couldn’t control him—and the sound he made, it was like a scream of fear.”

  “Or of pain?” Vickery suggested.

  “Possibly, but she didn’t strike him. She just loomed up out of the undergrowth, dressed in black rags, waving her arms about like a big old bat.”

  “Or one of the witches from the Scottish play?” Vickery asked.

  “Yes, exactly like that. Crazy or drunk. Or both.” 

  “Had you ever seen her before?”

  “No. And she just disappeared. The police tried to find her, to talk to her, but she was just gone.”

  “Did it ever strike you that her sudden appearance at that moment, in that remote spot, was a trifle melodramatic? Like something from a play or a novel?”

  “At the time, I couldn’t think of anything. The pain in my spine was crippling.”

  “But afterwards, did you form any suspicions?”

  “No, I—” She cast a glance sideways towards Fulbright. “Well, I did wonder, at one point, if it had really been an accident. Or whether someone had planned it, to get me out of the way.”

  “By ‘someone’ you mean Leo, or perhaps his new lover?”

  “Well, yes. It’s ridiculous, I know. It was probably just the medication, making me delirious. I know Leo would never—”

  “And the old woman, you didn’t recognise her at the time, or since?”

  “No. It happened so suddenly, and she was more of a looming shadow than a person. If she was sitting here now, I’m sure I wouldn’t recognise her,” Margot said. “You don’t think the ‘old woman’ was Eleanor Trenton?”

  “I do not,” Vickery said. “I think it is as you said, Leo was in London attempting to woo Eleanor Trenton, while she sought to persuade him to cast her as the queen in the motion picture he was in the early stages of casting.”

  “Then the old woman—?”

  “I believe her presence was no accident. She was, I think, someone we know. Her costume was just that, something chosen from the theatre wardrobe.”

  “Then someone wanted to kill me?” 

  “They wanted you out of the way, certainly.”

  “I can’t believe that anyone could deliberately—” Margot shuddered. “They killed poor Hector.”

  “Your horse wasn’t the target.”

  “Is there any evidence to support what you are suggesting?” Fulbright asked.

  “Heresay and only what the police will call circumstantial evidence,” Vickery admitted. “But it has been enough to convince someone that you were behind this staged accident.”

  “Me? What makes you—”

  “The letters,” Linette said.

  “The letters,” Vickery confirmed.

  “That’s prep—”

  “You have deliberately concealed from everyone, including your own wife, the complete texts of the letters you have received,” Vickery said.

  “That’s not—”

  “Yes, it is. The letters warn that you will be punished for ‘what you have done.’ But you have carefully kept from us what the letter-writer believes you to be guilty of.”

  “I’m not guilty of anything!”

  “Then why seek to keep the accusation secret?”

  “The last thing I need is some crazy rumour circulating that I tried to—that I—”

  “That you tried to do away with your wife by staging a riding accident,” Vickery said.

  “Leo!” Margot gasped.

  “I didn’t do it,” Fulbright protested.

  “But someone believed that you did,” Vickery said.

  “Either that, or they wanted everyone else to believe that daddy did it,” Linette suggested.

  “That is another possibility,” Vickery said.

  “This is all getting very confusing,” Bannister said. “We have poor Miss Trenton murdered, and then poor Artie. We’ve had an attempt on Fulbright’s life, and now you’re suggesting that someone tried to kill Margot!”

  “You are right, it is time that we brought an end to the confusion. I propose that we begin by explaining the poison pen letters. Why did you send them, Mr. Bannister?”

  A hush fell on the room.

  “I—I—I sent them.” It wasn’t a protest or a denial, but a quiet admission.

  “You believe that Margot McCrae’s riding accident was deliberately staged?” Vickery asked.

  “I don’t believe it, I know it!” Bannister said. “I know who the old woman was.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, Bannister had everyone holding their breath in anticipation.

  “It was Artie,” Bannister said. “Artie Delancey dressed up as an old woman and scared Margot’s horse.” Bannister sounded as though he regretted having to reveal a friend’s guilty secret, and at the same time to speak ill of the dead.

  “Artie told you this?” Vickery asked gently.

  Bannister shook his head.

 

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