Appleby Talking by Michael Innes

proposed mistress to witness – Shakespeare’s Othello . Before such cataclysmic poetry and passion human amorousness shrivels and dies. And yet these actors…
    Appleby turned abruptly back to them. Detective investigation requires more than the technique of reading fingerprints and cigarette-ends. It requires the art of reading minds and hearts. How, then, did these people’s emotions stand now?
    Othello was horrified and broken; with him as with Cassio – but more obscurely – things had come to an end. Well, his wife had been horribly killed, and that shortly after he had struck her brutally in the face. In a sense then, Othello’s immediate emotions were accounted for.
    What of Iago? Iago was on the defensive still – and defensiveness means a sense of guilt. He was like a man, Appleby thought, before whom there has opened more evil than he intended or knew. And, in whatever desperation he stood, he seemed likely to receive small succour or comfort from his wife. Emilia hated him. Was it a settled hate? Appleby judged that it had not that quality. It was a hatred, then, born of shock. Born of whatever abrupt revelation had preluded the catastrophe.
    There remained Bianca, Cassio’s wife. She, perhaps, was the enigma in the case, for her emotions ran deep. And her husband was out of it. Cassio was the type of chronically worried man; he expended his anxieties upon the business of keeping his company financially afloat, and emerged from this only to play subsidiary roles. As a husband he would not be very exciting. And Bianca required excitement. That hidden sort did.
    The analysis was complete. Appleby thought a little longer, and then spoke. “I am going to tell you,” he said quietly, “what happened. But only the principal actors need remain.”
    There was a sigh from the people gathered round. Like shadows they melted into the wings – some with the alacrity of relief, others with the shuffle of fatigue. It had grown very cold. The curtain stirred and swayed, like a great shroud waiting to envelop those who remained.
    “It began with Desdemona’s seduction, or with the revelation of this. Is that not so?” Appleby looked gravely round. There was absolute silence. “Is that not so?” he repeated gently. But the silence prolonged itself. And Appleby turned to Othello. “You struck her because of that?”
    And abruptly Othello wept. His blotched black face crumpled. “Yes,” he said, “I struck her because I had discovered that.”
    Appleby turned to Iago. “You seduced this man’s wife. And the result has been wilful murder. But did you know the truth was out? Or was it you yourself who smothered her to prevent confession and disclosure?”
    Iago stepped back snarling. “You’ve got nothing on me,” he said. “And I won’t say a word.”
    From this time forth I never will speak word… But Appleby was now facing Emilia. “Your husband had betrayed you. You had discovered he was sleeping with this man’s wife. Did you, in the frenzy of your jealousy, smother her?”
    Emilia’s face had hardened. “These accusations mean nothing. Nobody knows who smothered her. And you will never find out.”
    There was a pause. Appleby turned slowly to Bianca. “And you?” he asked. “For how long had you been Iago’s mistress? And what did you do when you found that he had cast you off?”
    “Nothing! I did nothing! And she’s right. Nobody saw. Nobody can tell anything.”
    “And so the mystery will be unsolved?” Appleby nodded seriously. “It is not impossible that you are right. But we shall know in the morning.” He turned to Cassio. “Did Desdemona have a dressing-room of her own? I’ll just look in there before I go.”
    “They probably won’t hang her,” Appleby said next day to the police sergeant. “It was a crime of sudden impulse, after all. And of course there was provocation in the adultery she had discovered.” He paused. “Will it be any consolation to her in prison to