The Grub-And-Stakers Pinch a Poke (12 page)

“Leaving Mr. Bledsoe lying on the stage?”

T faith, yes.”

“You have to remember this all happened faster than it takes to tell,” Dittany put in. “You may recall, Sergeant Mac Vicar, that I was standing right behind the piano, so I could see exactly what happened.

Carolus did shoot first, and Andy did deliberately tilt his gun down before he shot. I couldn’t think why. I didn’t realize Carolus was hurt and I don’t think anybody else did at the time. He fell forward on his face, as he was supposed to, and that hid the toe of his boot, you see. He did squirm around a bit and I heard Arethusa tell him to keep still. I do think Arethusa’s right about his fainting. He lay there so long that Osbert finally went over to him and said something like, ‘You’re not dead any longer, Carolus.’ Then Carolus said he was, too, because Andy had shot him.”

“Were those his words?”

“That was the general thrust. His actual phrasing was a bit more pungent,” Dittany replied primly. “Then Andy said he didn’t, and Carolus rolled over and we could see where the toe of his boot had a hole in it. So Roger Munson gave him first aid and we shoved him into a chair and took our curtain calls as fast as we could. Roger’s driving Carolus to the hospital now. We knew you’d understand.

Osbert wasn’t sure how fast he could get you back here without starting a stampede in the audience, and we couldn’t very well leave Carolus lying around wondering how many toes he had left.”

“You didna remove the damaged boot?”

“Oh no, we didn’t dare. It was a great, clunky thing. Roger said we’d better leave it for the doctors to cut off with a laser beam or something. We didn’t want to lose any bits and pieces that might have to be sewn back on, you know.”

Sergeant Mac Vicar nodded in understanding. “Now, can you tell me who loaded yon gun? Was it Jenson ThorbisherFreep?”

“No, it was Carolus himself. Jenson had brought the gun already loaded, but Roger’d got nervous about leaving it that way, so he’d taken out the cartridge and hidden it in the poke.”

“Assuming the cartridge was a blank, eh?”

“Yes, of course. You see, it was the only one we had left. Jenson had brought four to start with, but we’d used up three of them rehearsing. We couldn’t get any more because the .38 ones have to be ordered specially and Roger didn’t see any sense in spending the money for a whole box when we only needed one bang. So anyway, Roger’d got the cartridge out all right but he didn’t seem quite sure how to get it back in. Carolus was standing there watching Roger fuss around and getting edgier by the second. Finally he took the gun and said he’d as soon load it himself since he was the one getting shot at, so Roger let him.”

“Carolus Bledsoe also being under the impression he was loading a blank cartridge?”

“Well, naturally. That is, he must have, mustn’t he? Unless he was planning to commit suicide and pin the rap on Andy.”

Sergeant MacVicar rubbed his chin again. “And why should he want to do that, Dittany?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It was just a passing thought. I might alternatively have suggested that Carolus had meant to switch guns in order to kill Andy without being too obvious and it slipped his mind at the last minute, but that’s only because I’ve typed so many of Arethusa’s manuscripts. What I really think is that Carolus mistook a real bullet for a blank cartridge, just as Roger and I and Jenson ThorbisherFreep did.”

“Dittany lass, not even you could mistake a real bullet for a blank cartridge.”

“I could try.”

“The effort would avail you naething. A blank cartridge is flat on top and has but a wee disc of cardboard inserted to compress a light charge of gunpowder. Yon disc is referred to as a wad, nae doot frae the time when a wad of tow was inserted to tamp down the powder in a muzzle-loader. A bullet projects noticeably from the cartridge case and comes to what might be described as a rounded point. It is most often of a silver color in contrast to the brass cartridge.”

“Then how could Carolus have made such an awful mistake?” she demanded. “He knows about guns. At least he knows more than the rest of us.”

“More than Deputy Monk?” Sergeant MacVicar had a special regard for Osbert, who often served as his unpaid deputy.

“Certainly more than Osbert. Osbert doesn’t shoot guns, he just writes about them. Anyway, Osbert didn’t know about the unloading and reloading because he was out front checking the set. But I saw the cartridge myself, Sergeant. I helped Roger find it.”

“Oh aye? Find it where?”

“It was in the poke, and the poke was inside the feedbag. Roger was so sure he’d left the poke on the table by itself that he never thought to look. That’s the trouble with being organized. But anyway, the cartridge I saw was flat on both ends and had a little red dot on top just like the three we used at rehearsal. So how could it hurt anybody? Unless someone took it out and put in a bullet,” Dittany added in a rather scared tone.

“Or unless what you took for a blank cartridge was in fact what is known as a wad-cutting bullet,” Sergeant MacVicar amplified.

“These are normally used for target shooting, but one of .38 caliber could certainly be lethal at close range. The bullet is pushed down inside the cartridge and covered by the wad, which it cuts as it emerges.”

“Hence the name, no doubt. But then it’s perfectly easy to mistake a live bullet for a blank cartridge so why did you say it wasn’t?”

“Because I wasna thinking straight,” Sergeant MacVicar admitted handsomely. “A wad-cutter weighs more than a blank, I needna say, and is distinguished by a wad of a different color, as red for a blank and green for a wad-cutter.”

“But if you didn’t know what a .38 blank was supposed to weigh, you mightn’t notice the cartridge was too heavy,” said Dittany, “and you could always paint a green dot red.”

“Or if you loaded your ain cartridges, you could substitute the wrong wad for the right one, either by accident or on purpose. Is Mr. Thorbisher-Preep still here, lass?”

“I’ll go and see.”

Dittany ran out into the auditorium. Yes, Jenson was still there, and so was Wilhedra, looking as if she might be coming up to the boil. The lid hadn’t popped yet, but it was jittering a little. She was talking to Daniel, but not listening when he talked back. It was the long, green curtain that she kept glancing toward, and anybody with half an eye could have seen she was pretty steamed because Carolus Bledsoe hadn’t yet come through it to meet her. Before Dittany could get to the elder Thorbisher-Preep, Wilhedra tackled her.

“Why, you’re still in costume. I thought everyone backstage was madly changing. How’s Carolus doing?”

“As well as can be expected in the circumstances, I suppose,”

Dittany answered vaguely. “The last I knew, he was having trouble with one of his boots.”

“One of his boots? How ridiculous!”

“Well, that’s showbiz. Excuse me, I have to speak to your father on a general question of theatrical expertise.”

“Such as how to get a boot off?”

Wilhedra’s smile was painful to see. Dittany only smiled back and kept moving. Fortunately for her, Jenson was with Osbert at the moment. Archie was there, too, looking about the way Osbert’s father had looked at the wedding reception before Bert got him out back at the picnic table and began telling him eyewear salesman stories. Dittany slipped her arm through Osbert’s and gave him a squeeze out of sheer necessity. He squeezed back, perhaps for the same reason.

“Howdy, pardner. How’s it going back there?”

“Wilhedra was just asking me pretty much the same thing, funnily enough. Jenson, we need you backstage on a question of theatrical expertise.” Dittany couldn’t suppress a yawn as she spoke, and Osbert squeezed her arm again.

“Going to sleep without rocking tonight, eh, kid? Come on, what’s happening?”

“Roger’s coping as you told him to, Andy’s better nature has prevailed again, and Sergeant Mac Vicar wants to ask Jenson something, so would you please go backstage right now, Jenson?”

“Why, certainly, if I’m needed. It’s not going to take long, is it?”

“I fervently hope not,” Dittany answered. “We’re all about ready to drop. Archie, Andy McNaster’s changing now. He’ll drive you and Daniel back to the inn and we’ll see you for breakfast about half past nine. Will that suit you?”

Archie shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not going to work, Dittany.

The only plane we could get seats on leaves at half past ten.

That means we ought to be on the road by eight or a little after, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would, unfortunately. Then breakfast will have to be at seven, unless you’d rather we just came a little before eight and picked you up. I could drive while you and Osbert talk. What a pity you have to leave so soon.”

“Isn’t it,” Archie replied politely. “However, we’ve done what we came for. I have to tell you Daniel’s quite excited about the play, though it’s never safe to count chickens that haven’t hatched yet.

Why don’t we leave it that I’ll give you a ring first thing in the morning when I find out what Daniel wants to do? Would half past six be too early?”

“Not if you expect Osbert and me to be ready on time. Ethel usually wants her breakfast about then anyway.”

Ethel had been able to sleep through the entire second act. Dittany had seen her a minute ago, fresh and rested, taking an intelligent interest in the work of the scene shifters. She’d spend another five or six hours in restful slumber tonight, God willing, get Dittany up two minutes before dawn cracked to serve her breakfast, take her morning stroll up Cat Alley, check out a few fence posts, and exchange compliments with any neighbor who happened along.

Then she’d come home and flake out beside the stove for a few hours while her alleged master and mistress dragged themselves off to deliver Archie and Daniel to the airport assuming Sergeant MacVicar would let them leave town. A dog’s life, forsooth! Dittany leaned on Osbert’s arm and let him steer her backstage to see how Jenson ThorbisherFreep was making out.

Jenson was a most unhappy man, that much was clear at a glance.

He was standing listening to Sergeant Mac Vicar, running his hands through his frosty mane but forgetting to look leonine. As the sergeant finished explaining what had happened, Jenson simply stood there staring at him. Then he shook himself together, much as Andy McNaster had done.

“What a dreadfully shocking thing to happen! Where is the dear fellow now? My daughter will want to go to him at once. Dittany, have you broken the news to Wilhedra?”

Of course she hadn’t, why on earth should she? “I didn’t think it was my place to,” Dittany answered rather curtly.

“No, of course it wasn’t.” Jenson clutched another fistful of hair.

“What am I thinking of? But you say Carolus is in no great danger, Sergeant?”

“I can say naething on that count, sir, until I receive an official report from the hospital.”

“He cussed a lot while they were getting him out the back door on the stretcher,” Dittany volunteered to make amends for her brusqueness. “That’s always a healthy sign, don’t you think?”

Sergeant MacVicar gazed down on her corkscrew curls with an indulgent eye. “Nae doot, lassie.”

He was lapsing into his old habit of regarding her as a wee, fatherless bairn. She really ought to go and get out of this pinafore, but she couldn’t bear not to hear what Jenson might have to say about the cartridge.

Sergeant MacVicar must be anxious, too. He lost no time getting to the point. “Noo, Mr. ThorbisherFreep, I understand the gun McNaster fired belongs to you.”

“You’re quite right, Sergeant. It’s an old Smith & Wesson that came from my collection of theatrical memorabilia. As it happened, I’d carried the gun myself when I played Jack Ranee in The Girl of the Golden West. The four blank cartridges I brought along with it were left over from that production. Is that what you wanted to ask me? I’d like to get back to my daughter.”

“In guid time, Mr. ThorbisherFreep. How long had yon cartridges been in your possession?”

“Far longer than I like to think. Twenty years at least, perhaps nearer thirty. But they worked perfectly all right at rehearsals, Sergeant.”

“They made lovely bangs,” Dittany confirmed.

“Aye,” said Sergeant MacVicar. “I misdoubt they banged louder than new ones. The powder would hae dried out and gained rather than losing strength. Am I no’ correct, Mr. ThorbisherFreep?”

“I should not presume to judge, Sergeant. My stage manager at the time got hold of the cartridges somewhere and showed me how to load the gun, which I’d bought originally not to use but simply as a collector’s item. I was told it had been carried on Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show’s first European tour in 1887. This may have been Bill’s own gun. The initials W.F.C. are engraved on the butt, as you see, though I realize they’re no positive guarantee of authenticity.

However, I’m sure you’re not interested in historical footnotes just now. My point is simply that my knowledge of firearms has never progressed beyond that one small experience.”

“You’ve ne’er used the gun for target practice?”

“One doesn’t need target practice to shoot off a blank, Sergeant. I do know that much. And I know the difference between a blank cartridge and a live bullet.” Heat was creeping into Jensen’s pearshaped tones. “I can assure you the four blanks I turned over to the Traveling Thespians’ property man were in fact blanks. Don’t ask me how Andrew McNaster got hold of that bullet he shot my good friend Carolus Bledsoe with. I can only tell you he didn’t get it from me.”

Sergeant MacVicar favored the wealthy collector with an Augustan nod. “Weel spoken, Mr. ThorbisherFreep. Tell me noo, did you yoursel’ handle yon four cartridges before you gave them to Roger Munson?”

“Handle them? What an odd question. But yes, as a matter of fact, I did. The blanks were in the gun, you see, and I didn’t much like the idea of leaving them there while I was carrying it around. I know so little of firearms, I thought perhaps they might all explode at once if I hit a big pothole or something. The roads are in wretched condition this time of year, as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. Anyway, however unnecessary it might have been, I unloaded the gun and put the cartridges in a box with cotton around them.