Overture to Death by Ngaio Marsh Page B

head?”
    “Yes.”
    “How?”
    “From inside the piano.”
    “I never heard such a thing,” said Jocelyn. “I’m coming to look.”
    “Yes. But, I say,” objected Dr. Templett, “I don’t think you ought to, you know. It’s a matter for the police.”
    “Well, you’ve just been in there.”
    “I’m police surgeon for the district”
    “Well, by God,” said the squire, suddenly remembering it, “I’m Acting Chief Constable for the county.”
    “Sorry,” said Dr. Templett. “I’d forgotten.”
    But the squire was prevented from looking behind the screen by the return of Mr. Blandish.
    “That’s all right,” said the superintendent peaceably. He turned to the squire. “I’ve just rung up the station and asked for two chaps to come along, sir.”
    “Oh, yes. Yes. Very sensible,” said Jocelyn.
    “Just a minute, Blandish,” said Dr. Templett. “Come down here, would you?”
    They disappeared behind the screen. The others waited in silence. Miss Prentice buried her face in her hands. The squire walked to the edge of the stage, looked over the top of the piano, turned aside, and suddenly mopped his face with his handkerchief.
    Blandish and Templett came out and joined the party on the stage.
    “Lucky, in a way, your being here on the spot, sir,” Blandish said to Jocelyn. “Your first case of this sort since your appointment, I believe.”
    “Yes.”
    “Very nasty affair.”
    “It is.”
    “Yes, sir. Well now, with your approval, Mr. Jernigham, I’d just like to get a few notes down. I fancy Mr. Henry Jernigham and Miss Copeland are with us.”
    He peered into the shadows beyond the stage.
    “We’re here,” said Henry.
    He and Dinah came on the stage.
    “Ah, yes. Good-evening, Miss Copeland.”
    “Good-evening,” said Dinah faintly.
    “Now,” said Blandish, looking round the stage, “this is the whole company of performers, I take it.
With
the exception of the deceased, of course.”
    “Yes,” said Jocelyn.
    “I’ll just make a note of the names.”
    They sat round the stage while Blandish wrote in his note-book. A group of ushers and two youths were huddled on a bench at the far end of the hall under the eyes of Sergeant Roper. Dinah fixed her gaze on this group, on Blandish, on the floor, anywhere but on the top of the piano jutting above the footlights and topped with pots of aspidistra. For down through the aspidistras, heavily shadowed by the screen, and not quite covered by the green and yellow bunting they had thrown over it, was Miss Campanula’s body, face down on the keys of the piano. Dinah found herself wondering who was responsible for the aspidistras. She had meant to have them removed. They must mask quite a lot of the stage from the front rows.
    “
Don’t look at them
,” said her mind. She turned quickly to Henry. He took her hands and pulled her round with her back to the footlights.
    “It’s all right, Dinah,” he whispered, “it’s all right darling.”
    “I’m not panicked or anything,” said Dinah.
    “Yes,” said Blandish, “that’s all the names. Now, sir — Well, what is it?”
    A uniformed constable had come in from the front door and stood waiting in the hall.
    “Excuse me,” said Blandish, and went down to him. There was a short rumbling conversation. Blandish turned and called to the squire.
    “Can you spare a moment, sir?”
    “Certainly,” said Jocelyn, and joined them.
    “Can you beat this, sir?” said Blandish, in an infuriated whisper. “We’ve had nothing better than a few old drunks and speed merchants in this place for the last six months or more, and now, to-night, there’s got to be a breaking and entering job at Moorton Park with five thousand pounds’ worth of her ladyship’s jewellery gone and Lord knows what else besides. Their butler rang up the station five minutes ago, and this chap’s come along on his motor bike and he says the whole place is upside down. Sir George and her ladyship and the party