A Dark Coffin. Gwendoline Butler
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about you.’
‘And partly about Harry Trent? Don’t you like him? I wondered.’
‘We were very close at one time; he nearly got me killed.’
‘That doesn’t seem a reason for closeness.’
‘Oh well, I nearly got him killed too, we were in it together … too close to a pair of villains with guns. And unprepared. As much my fault as his. More really, since I was the senior by a long way.’
‘So, what’s the trouble?’
Coffin was silent, he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘What did you make of him?’
‘I liked him. Why?’
‘I’m not sure if I believe his story … I never heard about the twin before. I suppose there is one.’
‘What an extraordinary thing to say.’
‘Might be an excuse.’
‘What for?’
‘I don’t know. Excuses are always useful.’ Good excuse for a lot of things if you can bring it off.
While they were talking, the watchman who walked through the theatre slowly, carefully at night, checking for intruders, came into the auditorium. By the low security light which was always on, he could see it was empty.
He paced on round. No one.
He stood still for a moment and looked around. Still no one.
He walked on, looking at intervals.
Why did he have this feeling that someone was about?
In the shadows, a dark figure flitted away.
Evenings when a new show opened were always a cause for celebration at the St Luke’s Theatre. Each new production was a rebirth.
This particular evening was no different, Stella was happy and excited, she always was, while her husband went with her because he enjoyed her company and had to admit that he liked the theatre. Stella had said to him once that he was a closet tragedian, but he had settled for being a lost comedian which seemed more desirable for a policeman somehow.
Especially for a policeman who had the riot police out two nights running. Last night, thank God, had been quieter, and if Harry’s brother had been around, he had not been noticed. But Coffin now had his address in Swinehouse, knew where he was staying, or a man who fitted the description, although not why, and the owners of the house had received a quiet warning from Sergeant Fraser who claimed to know them well. Coffin was now debating whether to tell Harry or not.
They had met Harry for drinks first. As promised, he had done some shopping so that he could offer them a good white wine, as well as smoked salmon sandwiches. All courtesy of Max.
‘What’s the day been like?’
‘Bearable, just about.’ Coffin sounded weary, so that Stella gave him a sharp look but said nothing. ‘You helped us there in identifying your brother.’ He saw Harry wince. ‘It’s all right, he wasn’t arrested, in fact, he hasn’t been back to where he was lodging, he may have cleared out.’ Harry did not look relieved but Coffin went on: ‘So, not too bad a day.’ The streets were quiet but not peaceful, there would be trouble again if the child died and the news of her condition was not good.
‘I had a look round, wondering if I could find Merry. Didn’t.’ He looked at Coffin.
‘I can give you his address in Swinehouse,’ said Coffin slowly. ‘Or where he was. An old seamen’s lodging house. Or it was when the river had seamen on it, now anyone can live in it. Mother Arbatt’s, is the local name, two, Shambles Passage … there used to be an abattoir in the passage when cattle came in live from Canada … long gone, of course, but locals say you can smell it on a hot day. Not sure if you would be wise to call, not one of the best houses in the world.’
‘It wouldn’t be if they let Merry live in it.’
‘He’s been living there for some weeks.’ Registered, anyway, but not seen much. A popper-in, you might say, rather than a continual inhabitant.
‘I’ll go tomorrow.’
Coffin nodded, watching Stella quietly mopping up the mess where the wine had dribbled on to a good table. It was her table, after all. ‘Up to you.’
‘I told you I went to see the Macintoshes yesterday. Found the house, all changed of course, with flats on either side.’ Must be a valuable site, he had thought, but the house looked run down. ‘They weren’t there. Out with the van, I suppose. I saw where they parked it. I tried to track it down but couldn’t find it … but I may see them tonight. They are going to be at the theatre.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Max told me … I was talking to him when I bought the wine … Said someone had made them a present of some tickets and they were going.’
‘Max always knows everything,’ said Stella. ‘He is very helpful.’
‘When it suits him.’ Coffin had made it his business to find out about Max since he was now so much a part of his wife’s business life with the way he ran the theatre catering – very well, it must be said. Coffin wanted to know. Max had come to England from Northern Italy as a young lad, after the war; he had come on his own, with no money, to make his fortune, which he was in a fair way to do. Coffin reckoned he would die richer than the Chief Commander himself ever would. Starting in a small way, Max was getting richer.
Stella was practical. ‘Will you know the Macintoshes again after all this time?’
‘I think so, unless they have changed a lot, but they will look older. Max said that they told him someone had given them a box.’
‘Oh, that will make it easy, there are only two boxes. One on each side of the stage between pillars of the old church that could not be used. The sight lines are poor but you can hear well.’
‘I’m surprised there are boxes … I thought it was a theatre in the round.’
He’d been doing his research, Stella thought with amusement.
He read her mind. ‘I’m interested in the theatre. Like to have been an actor, I know I couldn’t have been, no talent but the interest is there. Unusual in a copper, I suppose.’
‘What about me?’ Coffin had the feeling he was being left out.
‘You married into it.’
‘I married you, Stella,’ Coffin observed mildly. ‘Not the theatre.’
‘Same thing. I wonder if you would have married me if I hadn’t been an actress.’
‘But you wouldn’t be Stella,’ he said unanswerably and honestly.
Stella looked enraptured. She came over and kissed him. ‘You angel … you do know the right things to say.’ Then as she drew away: ‘Mind you, I’ve told you before that you are a bit of an actor yourself.’
Then she turned her attention back to Harry, and Coffin wondered once again about the man in Rome. American, wasn’t he? Probably not a bit important to Stella but he wished he was sure. That kiss just now, not like Stella as a rule, she played it cool in public. Perhaps she felt she owed him something.
‘I can feel evil,’ said the nightwatchman to one of the ushers. He intended to stay to see the performance: not only an old performer (in a humble way, an extra at Elstree, a chorus boy, a man who walked on), he had also fought in the war. He wanted to see.
‘Oh, come on with you, Albie,’ said the usher. ‘There’s Miss Pinero coming in with her husband and a friend. No evil when she’s around, she wouldn’t allow it. Keeps the discipline, that one. And look at her smile, such a happy smile.’
‘Fool,’ muttered the old man. ‘Evil has nothing