Death on the Aisle by Frances and Richard Lockridge Page B

“Me and Bolton?”
    â€œConfer,” Weigand said. “He hurried back from lunch to see you. Why?”
    â€œOh,” Ahlberg said. “That. I didn’t wait. I went to the Astor and had lunch and forgot Dr. Bolton, except I got nervous indigestion from thinking about him. He was trying to ruin me.”
    â€œReally?” Weigand said. Mr. Ahlberg didn’t need encouragement.
    â€œHe should write a play,” Mr. Ahlberg said. “He should write his own plays. Always beefing—always wanting to fire somebody. Kirk. Grady. The colored lady.”
    â€œReally?” Weigand said. “Why?”
    â€œHe should direct,” Mr. Ahlberg said. “He should act all the parts. He should produce too, maybe. Always what other people do is wrong with Dr. Bolton. Like this morning, he flares up and says he’s pulling out.”
    â€œWithdrawing his backing, you mean?” Weigand asked. Mr. Ahlberg was proving very interesting.
    â€œAbsolutely,” said Maxie Ahlberg. “Take out the money. And the set not paid for and opening in a week. Always troubles. So I went to the Astor.”
    Weigand was a little puzzled. Mr. Ahlberg had gone to the Astor for a long lunch instead of meeting his partner for an important conference?
    â€œSure,” said Mr. Ahlberg. “I know Bolton.” He paused. “I knew Bolton for years,” he corrected. “Always he flared up, usually he calmed down. When he was upset I didn’t confer with him.”
    It was, Mr. Ahlberg insisted through several more questions, as simple as that. Several things during the morning rehearsal had upset Carney Bolton to the point where he threatened to withdraw his money. He had instructed Ahlberg to meet him immediately after lunch to talk it over. Ahlberg had decided to ignore the instructions, hoping that later Bolton might have calmed down, might even have forgotten his whole intention. Mr. Ahlberg had had a long lunch, meeting several friends, and had then returned to the theatre and let himself in through the front door and come down to a seat.
    â€œLike I did later,” Ahlberg said. “When you re-enacted it, like it says in the papers.”
    Ahlberg, questioned carefully, was less talkative about the relations of others in the company to Bolton. He had heard of Penfield Smith’s difficulties with the physician; he thought it had been a dirty shame. Maybe Bolton was making a play for Miss James; who could tell? Mr. Ahlberg’s shoulders disclaimed knowledge. Miss James was a nice little actress; a very sweet kid. Better she should pay more attention to Humpty Kirk, who was a nice boy. Mr. Ahlberg forgot to be worried and beamed paternally when he considered Mr. Kirk and Miss James.
    â€œBy the way,” Weigand said. “Were the front doors locked when you came in? I assume you have a key?”
    They were. Mr. Ahlberg did have a key. So far as he knew nobody else did, except probably Bolton.
    As to the time of his entrance through the lobby, Mr. Ahlberg was pleasingly certain. He had looked at his watch as he opened the outer doors and his watch had showed 1:20, maybe 1:19. And now, at any rate, his watch was right with Weigand’s, which was, because Weigand had set it half an hour before for just such purposes, almost certainly right with God. Weigand audibly approved of Mr. Ahlberg, who knew not only where he was going, but when.
    â€œAs a matter of routine,” Weigand said, “did anybody see you? At the doors? In the lobby?”
    Ahlberg saddened and shook his head. When he was opening the doors, anybody might have seen him. “Half the people on Broadway.” But he didn’t know. He had seen nobody he knew then or until he joined the rehearsal group. Weigand told him not to worry about it, and let him go.
    Mr. Ahlberg went. Mullins, looking after him, said he was a nice little guy.
    â€œIt seems to me, Mullins, that you are getting very fond