Light Thickens by Ngaio Marsh Page A

fall. I heard you say you were all right.”
    “You did?”
    “Yes.”
    After a considerable pause, William went on. “I knew you weren’t really all right because I heard you swear. But you got up. So I sneaked off and waited till there was only Charlie left and he was whistling. So I bolted.”
    “And why did you want to see me today?”
    “To tell you.”
    “Has something else happened?”
    “In a way.”
    “Let’s have it, then.”
    “It’s Miss Gaythorne. She keeps on about the curse.”
    “The curse?”
    “On the play. Now she’s on about things happening. She makes out the sword under the cover is mixed up with all the things that go wrong with
Macbeth
, with” — William corrected himself — “the Scots play. She reckons she wants to sprinkle holy water or something and say things. I dunno. It sounds like a lot of hogwash to me but she goes on and on, and of course the claymore’s all my doing, isn’t it? Nothing to do with this other stuff.”
    “Nothing in the wide world.”
    “Anyway, I’m sorry you’ve copped one, sir. I am, really.”
    “So you ought to be. It’s much better. Look here, William. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Word of a gentleman?” said Peregrine and wondered if it was comically snobbish.
    “No, I haven’t, not a word.”
    “Then don’t. Except to me, if you want to. If they know I’m hurt because of the claymore they’ll go weaving all sorts of superstitious rotgut about the play and it’ll get about and be bad for business. Mum’s the word. Okay? But I may say something. I’m not sure.”
    “Okay.”
    “And you’ll get your claymore but no funny business with it.”
    William looked blankly at him.
    “No swiping it around. Ceremonial use only. Understood?”
    “I’ve understood, all right.”
    “Agreed?”
    “I suppose so,” William muttered.
    Peregrine reminded himself that William was certainly unable to raise the weapon more than waist-high, if that, and decided not to insist. They shook hands and paid a visit to the Junior Dolphin at a quarter to six, where William consumed an unbelievable quantity of crumpets and fizzy drink. He seemed to have recovered his sangfroid.
    Peregrine drove him home to a minute house in a tidy little street in Lambeth. The curtains were not yet drawn but the room was lit and he could see a pleasant picture, a fully stocked bookcase, and a good armchair. Mrs. Smith came to the window and looked out before shutting the room away.
    William invited him in.
    “I’ll deliver you but I won’t come in, thank you. I’m due at home. Overdue, in fact.”
    A brisk knock brought his mother to the door. A woman who was worn down to the least common denominator. She was dressed in a good but not new jacket and skirt and spoke incisively. “Yes?”
    “Hullo, Mrs. Smith,” said Peregrine. “I’ve got a call to make in this part of the world so I’ve brought William home. He’s doing very well, may I add.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Jay.” She smiled briefly at him and ushered William in as all three said good-bye in chorus.
    Peregrine drove home in a state of some confusion. He was glad the hidden-sword mystery was solved, of course, but uncertain about how much, if anything, of the explanation should be passed on to the company. In the end he decided to say something publicly to Gaston about his promising to give the wooden sword to William and William hiding it. But what about Nina Gaythorne and the others? According to William, Nina knew about the sword. How the hell did the silly old trout find out? Peregrine asked himself. Charlie? Perhaps he let it out. No. No. I’ve got it. Banquo. He was there, probably lurking around before his entrance. He could have seen. And pretty well satisfied that this was the truth, he arrived home.
    Emily heard the story of William. “Do you think he’ll keep his word?” she asked.
    “Yes, I do. I’m quite persuaded he will.”
    “What was it like? The