interesting,” Witherspoon said. “But back to your identification of Mr. Hinchley. You’re certain you saw him getting into a hansom right after the performance, is that correct?”
“Right.” Packard pointed toward the side of the auditorium. “It were right out in the alley. I’d gone out and gotten a hansom for Miss Vaughan and was seein’ her off when all of a sudden, Hinchley comes strolling out the side door, saunters up the alley and hails a hansom. Well, blow me for a game of tin soldiers, I thought. If Mr. Swinton had seen Hinchley comin’ out that door instead of the front, there’d be some heads rolling around here. I were only glad it weren’t going to be mine.”
“So Hinchley must have gotten into the backstage area,” Barnes said. “Otherwise he couldn’t have come out the side door.”
“That’s right. ’Course when I asked round in here, no one would admit to seein’ him.” Packard crossed his arms over his chest. “They might have been telling the truth too; everyone’s pretty busy right after the curtain goes down. But my guess is Hinchley slipped into the back, had a good gander at the scenery and whatnot and then took himself off without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“And this was directly after the performance?” Witherspoon wanted to be absolutely, positively clear about the time.
“Not more than five minutes. Miss Vaughan asked me to get her a hansom right after she come off the stage. By the time I got him round to the side, she was waiting there to go.”
“Packard, I told you to fix this ruddy door.” The director’s sharp voice boomed from the side of the stage. “What are you doing larking about? We’ve got a performance in a few hours and I don’t want this thing sticking again in the first act.”
Witherspoon stared at Albert Parks as he stepped into view from the side of the stage. “Mr. Packard is speaking to us,” he called out. “Please don’t be angry with him. He’s answering a few questions.”
“I’d best get back to work,” Packard muttered as he edged away.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Witherspoon said. “You’ve been most helpful.” He turned back toward the stage. “Mr. Parks, may I have a word with you?”
“Me?” Parks’s eyes bulged. “Why on earth would you want to speak to me?”
“It’s merely routine, sir,” the inspector assured him. Gracious, how on earth did people think the police actually solved murders if they didn’t ask questions? “We won’t take too much of your time.”
Parks stared at them sourly. “Oh, all right, if I must. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Too bad Mr. Swinton and Mr. Delaney aren’t here,” Barnes muttered softly. “This one doesn’t look like he wants to tell us anything.”
“Very few people do, Constable,” Witherspoon said. “And I’m a tad annoyed that the other gentlemen aregone. We told them we’d be back this afternoon to ask more questions.”
Parks, pointedly looking at the watch on his waistcoat, came hurrying toward them. “Do please make this quick, sir. I’ve not much time.”
“But it’s hours before tonight’s performance,” Barnes pointed out.
Parks tucked his watch in. “And there’s an enormous amount of work to do yet. Just because the actors aren’t emoting all over the stage doesn’t mean I’m not busy.”
“Mr. Parks,” Witherspoon began, “we’ll try not to in-convenience you too much. But we’ve a few questions we must ask. How well did you know Mr. Hinchley?”
Parks thought about it for a moment. “I knew of him, of course. Everyone in the theatre did. But I didn’t know him all that well. Not personally.”
“Did you like him, sir?” Barnes asked.
“He was a critic.” Parks sneered the last word. “Of course I didn’t like him.”
“Had he reviewed any of your previous productions?” Witherspoon asked.
Parks hesitated. “He reviewed my production of
Hamlet.
He didn’t like it overly much.
“Right.” Packard pointed toward the side of the auditorium. “It were right out in the alley. I’d gone out and gotten a hansom for Miss Vaughan and was seein’ her off when all of a sudden, Hinchley comes strolling out the side door, saunters up the alley and hails a hansom. Well, blow me for a game of tin soldiers, I thought. If Mr. Swinton had seen Hinchley comin’ out that door instead of the front, there’d be some heads rolling around here. I were only glad it weren’t going to be mine.”
“So Hinchley must have gotten into the backstage area,” Barnes said. “Otherwise he couldn’t have come out the side door.”
“That’s right. ’Course when I asked round in here, no one would admit to seein’ him.” Packard crossed his arms over his chest. “They might have been telling the truth too; everyone’s pretty busy right after the curtain goes down. But my guess is Hinchley slipped into the back, had a good gander at the scenery and whatnot and then took himself off without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“And this was directly after the performance?” Witherspoon wanted to be absolutely, positively clear about the time.
“Not more than five minutes. Miss Vaughan asked me to get her a hansom right after she come off the stage. By the time I got him round to the side, she was waiting there to go.”
“Packard, I told you to fix this ruddy door.” The director’s sharp voice boomed from the side of the stage. “What are you doing larking about? We’ve got a performance in a few hours and I don’t want this thing sticking again in the first act.”
Witherspoon stared at Albert Parks as he stepped into view from the side of the stage. “Mr. Packard is speaking to us,” he called out. “Please don’t be angry with him. He’s answering a few questions.”
“I’d best get back to work,” Packard muttered as he edged away.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Witherspoon said. “You’ve been most helpful.” He turned back toward the stage. “Mr. Parks, may I have a word with you?”
“Me?” Parks’s eyes bulged. “Why on earth would you want to speak to me?”
“It’s merely routine, sir,” the inspector assured him. Gracious, how on earth did people think the police actually solved murders if they didn’t ask questions? “We won’t take too much of your time.”
Parks stared at them sourly. “Oh, all right, if I must. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Too bad Mr. Swinton and Mr. Delaney aren’t here,” Barnes muttered softly. “This one doesn’t look like he wants to tell us anything.”
“Very few people do, Constable,” Witherspoon said. “And I’m a tad annoyed that the other gentlemen aregone. We told them we’d be back this afternoon to ask more questions.”
Parks, pointedly looking at the watch on his waistcoat, came hurrying toward them. “Do please make this quick, sir. I’ve not much time.”
“But it’s hours before tonight’s performance,” Barnes pointed out.
Parks tucked his watch in. “And there’s an enormous amount of work to do yet. Just because the actors aren’t emoting all over the stage doesn’t mean I’m not busy.”
“Mr. Parks,” Witherspoon began, “we’ll try not to in-convenience you too much. But we’ve a few questions we must ask. How well did you know Mr. Hinchley?”
Parks thought about it for a moment. “I knew of him, of course. Everyone in the theatre did. But I didn’t know him all that well. Not personally.”
“Did you like him, sir?” Barnes asked.
“He was a critic.” Parks sneered the last word. “Of course I didn’t like him.”
“Had he reviewed any of your previous productions?” Witherspoon asked.
Parks hesitated. “He reviewed my production of
Hamlet.
He didn’t like it overly much.
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