Death and the Chaste Apprentice by Robert Barnard

Gillian.
    â€œBecause, dear dumb cluck, if he died during the play and if he’s up there in his flat, you must see that no one of us could have done it.”
    â€œI never considered for a moment that one of us could have,” said Jason Thark. The silence that followed this was one of relief, as if Jason’s position as producer gave him some sort of authority in police matters as well. That his statement was untrue, however, he immediately revealed by his next. “I suspect that we can narrow down the time much more closely than merely that of the duration of the play. Because when I was getting my drink after the show, poor old Win was wondering where Des was, and that girl from the dining room—Dawn is her name?—said rather sharply: ‘It’s no good him showing up now. It was during interval that he was wanted and when he said he’d be here.’ So I rather suspect that the police will find that he’s been dead some time.”
    â€œWhich will let us out,” said Ronnie Wimsett.
    â€œWe-e-ell,” began Gillian, but she was interrupted byfootsteps on the stairs. And not just footsteps. The carrying voices of the Galloways were unmistakable.
    â€œIt was Des, dreadful Des” came Clarissa’s voice.
    â€œAre you quite sure?”
    â€œI heard the commissionaire, or doorman, or whatever you call him, say it to the constable by the main entrance. ‘His name is Capper, or was. Des Capper.’ Unless he’s gone out of his mind, the police are here because somebody’s dead, and that somebody is Des Capper.”
    â€œWell, I’ll be damned” came Carston’s impeccably well bred tones.
    They emerged blinking from the stairwell: Clarissa, Carston, and Susan Fanshaw, who characteristically was saying nothing. When they had got their bearings, Clarissa stared triumphantly at the assembled cast of The Chaste Apprentice of Bowe .
    â€œThere! You see? Everyone’s here and discussing it, aren’t you, darlings?”
    â€œWe are,” admitted Connie Geary. “But where have you been that you missed the fun?”
    â€œOh, my dear, such a miscalculation! I wouldn’t have missed being first to hear of dreadful Desmond’s death for the world if I’d known! But how could I? We went to the Webster.”
    â€œWhy on earth did you do that?”
    Clarissa had her audience and, as was her wont, immediately began acting a big scene, though it was a little enough matter she had to tell of.
    â€œWell, darlings, after the play and the curtain calls—only there is no curtain, and I do find that awkward!—Carston and I changed, because the fact is we do feel it a tiny bit unprofessional to mingle with the dear old general public in costume—” She gestured round at Ronnie and Peter, still in their apprentice’s costumes. “Call us old-fashioned if you like.”
    â€œOld-fashioned,” said Gillian, and was rewarded with a dazzling reptilian smile.
    â€œSo when we were ready, we collected Susan Fanshaw, my husband’s sweet little mistress, who had had a heavy evening seeing you’d all got your swords and cudgels with you and that your wimples and codpieces were straight, or whatever codpieces are supposed to be, and we went out into the yard, and there were fans waiting for us, still waiting after all that time. . . . Well, we saw you all in the Shakespeare, and we thought we ought to spread ourselves around a bit so as to be fair, so we took the fans into the Webster and let them lavish on us the best hospitality their purses could buy. Poor dears, they loved it!”
    Susan Fanshaw looked at Clarissa (from behind her) with an expression of the utmost contempt on her face. Clearly she had been embarrassed by their sponging. Carston did not notice the glance and took her hand absentmindedly.
    â€œAnyway, the consequence was, you missed all the excitement,” said Brad