thing…”
Then his eyes dilated and for the first time he realized that he was going to die. The moment of truth came for Master Fulke in one horrible mute second before he fell back and was dead. Master Topcliff hurried in, having shaken off the terrified innkeepers wife.
“Did he say aught?” he asked breathlessly.
Drew shook his head.
“He was rambling. His last words were something about the play being the thing… what thing?”
Master Topcliff smiled grimly.
“I fear it was only a line from Master Shakespeare’s tragedy of the Prince of Denmark. I recognize it well, for it is a play of murder and intrigue that held much meaning for me. ‘The play’s the thing wherein I’ll capture the conscience of the king.’ No use to us. This is my fault. I was too confident. I let this murderer out of my grasp.”
“How did he get in? I can swear that he did not pass me at the back door.”
“Nor from the front,” vowed Master Topcliff.
He peered round. The window was still open, the curtain flapping. There was a small balcony outside, built out above the waters of the Thames. The river, smelly and dirty, was lapping just below. The window and balcony were on the side of the building, for it was built sideways onto the river, and was blind to the scrutiny of anyone watching the front and back.
They stared out onto the darkened waters. The assailant must have come by rowing boat and pulled up against the wall of the inn, under the balcony. It was high water, and easy to pull oneself up toward this balcony and then climb through Fulke’s window.
“Our man will be long gone by now. Now, truly, all we can do is return to our lodgings and secure a good nights repose. Tomorrow morning, I think we will have another word with Master Will Painter. Logic shows him as our likely suspect.”
Hardy Drew sighed with exasperation as he stared down at the actors body. “Faith, he rambled on so much. Had he known he was dying, I doubt whether he would have quoted so much from his part in this play.”
He suddenly spied a sheaf of papers on the bed. Bending, he picked them up and perused them.
“All’s Well That End’s Well,” he quoted the title. “A bad ending for some.”
He was about to replace it on the bed when he spotted a line on the pages to which the play script had fallen open. “Methought you saw a serpent,” he whispered. He turned to the old constable. “Are you sure those words ‘the plays the thing’ comes from this other tragedy you mentioned? Are they not used in this new play?”
“I have seen the tragedy of the Prince of Denmark, but I have not seen this new comedy, nor has anyone else, remember? They were just rehearsing it for its first performance.”
“True enough,” Drew replied thoughtfully. After a moment or so, with a frown gathered on his forehead, he tucked the play script under his arm and followed the old constable down the stairs, where Master Topcliff gave instructions about the body. There was nothing further to do but to return to their lodgings.
It was morning when Master Topcliff, sitting over his breakfast,observed a pale and blearyeyed young Hardy Drew coming into the room.
“You have not slept well,” he observed dryly. “Does death affect you so?”
“Not death. I have been up all night reading Master Shakespeare’s new play.”
Master Topcliff chuckled. “I hope that you have found good education there?”
Drew sat down and reached for a mug of ale, taking a mouthful. He gave an almost urchinlike grin. “That I did. I found the answer to many mysteries there.”
Master Topcliff gave him a hard look. “Indeed?”
“Indeed. I learnt the identity of our murderer. As poor Raif Fulke was trying to tell me—the play’s the thing, the thing which reveals the secret. He was quoting from the play so that I might find the identity of his assailant there. But you are right—that line does not occur in this play, but the other lines he quoted do.”
An
Then his eyes dilated and for the first time he realized that he was going to die. The moment of truth came for Master Fulke in one horrible mute second before he fell back and was dead. Master Topcliff hurried in, having shaken off the terrified innkeepers wife.
“Did he say aught?” he asked breathlessly.
Drew shook his head.
“He was rambling. His last words were something about the play being the thing… what thing?”
Master Topcliff smiled grimly.
“I fear it was only a line from Master Shakespeare’s tragedy of the Prince of Denmark. I recognize it well, for it is a play of murder and intrigue that held much meaning for me. ‘The play’s the thing wherein I’ll capture the conscience of the king.’ No use to us. This is my fault. I was too confident. I let this murderer out of my grasp.”
“How did he get in? I can swear that he did not pass me at the back door.”
“Nor from the front,” vowed Master Topcliff.
He peered round. The window was still open, the curtain flapping. There was a small balcony outside, built out above the waters of the Thames. The river, smelly and dirty, was lapping just below. The window and balcony were on the side of the building, for it was built sideways onto the river, and was blind to the scrutiny of anyone watching the front and back.
They stared out onto the darkened waters. The assailant must have come by rowing boat and pulled up against the wall of the inn, under the balcony. It was high water, and easy to pull oneself up toward this balcony and then climb through Fulke’s window.
“Our man will be long gone by now. Now, truly, all we can do is return to our lodgings and secure a good nights repose. Tomorrow morning, I think we will have another word with Master Will Painter. Logic shows him as our likely suspect.”
Hardy Drew sighed with exasperation as he stared down at the actors body. “Faith, he rambled on so much. Had he known he was dying, I doubt whether he would have quoted so much from his part in this play.”
He suddenly spied a sheaf of papers on the bed. Bending, he picked them up and perused them.
“All’s Well That End’s Well,” he quoted the title. “A bad ending for some.”
He was about to replace it on the bed when he spotted a line on the pages to which the play script had fallen open. “Methought you saw a serpent,” he whispered. He turned to the old constable. “Are you sure those words ‘the plays the thing’ comes from this other tragedy you mentioned? Are they not used in this new play?”
“I have seen the tragedy of the Prince of Denmark, but I have not seen this new comedy, nor has anyone else, remember? They were just rehearsing it for its first performance.”
“True enough,” Drew replied thoughtfully. After a moment or so, with a frown gathered on his forehead, he tucked the play script under his arm and followed the old constable down the stairs, where Master Topcliff gave instructions about the body. There was nothing further to do but to return to their lodgings.
It was morning when Master Topcliff, sitting over his breakfast,observed a pale and blearyeyed young Hardy Drew coming into the room.
“You have not slept well,” he observed dryly. “Does death affect you so?”
“Not death. I have been up all night reading Master Shakespeare’s new play.”
Master Topcliff chuckled. “I hope that you have found good education there?”
Drew sat down and reached for a mug of ale, taking a mouthful. He gave an almost urchinlike grin. “That I did. I found the answer to many mysteries there.”
Master Topcliff gave him a hard look. “Indeed?”
“Indeed. I learnt the identity of our murderer. As poor Raif Fulke was trying to tell me—the play’s the thing, the thing which reveals the secret. He was quoting from the play so that I might find the identity of his assailant there. But you are right—that line does not occur in this play, but the other lines he quoted do.”
An
Similar Books
