Death of a Fool by Ngaio Marsh

to help the Dame’s maids. Well, Mrs. Buns started her car at last and, when she gets to the corner, who should she see but Old Guiser himself.”
    “Old Guiser?”
    “That’s what we called William Andersen hereabouts. There he was, seemingly, standing in the middle of the lane shaking his fist and swearing something ghastly. Mrs. Buns stops and offers a lift. He accepts, but with a bad grace, because, as everybody knows, he’s taken a great unliking for Mrs. Buns.”
    “Why?”
    “On account of her axing questions about Sword Wednesday. The man was in mortal dread of it getting made kind of public and fretted accordingly.”
    “A purist, was he?”
    “That may be the word for it. He doan’t pass a remark of any kind going up to the castle and, when she gets there, he bolts out of the car and goes round behind the ruins to where the others was getting ready to begin. She says she just walked in and stood in the crowd, which, to my mind, is no doubt what the woman did. I noticed her there myself, I remember, during the performance!”
    “Did you ask her if she knew why Ernie Andersen said she’d done it?”
    “I did, then. She says she reckons he’s turned crazy-headed with shock, which is what seems to be the general view.”
    “Why was the Guiser so late starting?”
    “Ah! Now! He’d been sick, had the Guiser. He had a bad heart and during the day he hadn’t felt too clever. Seems Dr. Otterly, who played the fiddle for them, was against the old chap doing it at all. The boys (I call them boys but Daniel’s sixty if he’s a day) say their father went and lay down during the day and left word not to be disturbed. They’d fixed it up that Ernie would come back and drive his dad up in an old station-waggon they’ve got there, leaving it till the last so’s not to get him too tired.”
    “Ernie again,” Alleyn muttered.
    “Well, axackly so, Mr. Alleyn. And when Ernie returns it’s with a note from his dad which he found pinned to his door, that being the Old Guiser’s habit, to say he can’t do it and Ernie had better. So they send the note in to Dr. Utterly, who is having dinner with the Dame.”
    “What?” Alleyn said, momentarily startled by this apparent touch of transatlantic realism. “Oh, I see, yes. Dame Alice Mardian?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Have you got the note?”
    “The Doctor put it in his pocket, luckily, and I have.”
    “Good.”
    Carey produced the old-fashioned billhead with its pencilled message:
     
    Cant mannage it young Ern will have to. W.A
.
     
    “It’s his writing all right,” he said. “No doubt of it.”
    “And are we to suppose he felt better, and decided to play his part after all and hitch-hiked with the lady?”
    “That’s what his sons reckon. It’s what they say he told them when he turned up.”
    “Do they, now!”
    “Pointing out that there wasn’t much time to say
anything
. Ernie was dressed up for his dad’s part — it’s what they call the Fool — so he had to get out of his clothes quick and dress up for his own part, and Daniel’s boy, who was going to do Ernie’s part, was left looking silly. So he went round and joined the onlookers. And he confirms the story. He says that’s right, that’s what happened when the old chap turned up.”
    “And it’s certain the old man did dance throughout the show?”
    “Must be, Mr. Alleyn, mustn’t it? Certain sure. There they were, five Sons, a Fiddler, a Betty, a Hoss and a Fool. The Sons were the real sons all right. They wiped the muck off their faces while I was taking over. The Betty was the Dame’s great-nephew: young Mr. Stayne. He’s a lawyer from Biddlefast and staying with Parson, who’s his father. The Hoss, they call it ‘Crack,’ was Simmy-Dick Begg, who has the garage up to Yowford. They all took off their silly truck there and then in my presence as soon’s they had the wit to do so. So the Fool must have been the Guiser all the time, Mr. Alleyn. There’s nobody left but