The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (6 page)

‘Was this an habitual routine?’

‘If you mean – did I always do it? – then yes, dear, I did.’

‘So Mademoiselle Rossignol had, I take it from your answer, played at the Cambridge before?’

‘Lots of times. And always top of the bill.’

‘When was the second occasion you left the dressing-room, before your return and your discovery of Mademoiselle Rossignol’s body?’

‘That was later, after she’d come off stage. She sent me out for ’alf a pint of porter from the Crown next door, same as she always did. Liked ’er drop of porter, did Mademoiselle; said it kept ’er whistle wet. She told me she was goin’ to start gettin’ changed while I was gone ’cos she was due on at the Empire
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at the end of the second ’alf, where she was sharin’ top billin’ with Jolly Jack Tarbrush, the Saucy Sailor. That’s why she was on in the first ’alf ’ere. She’d worn that lavender-coloured dress there two weeks before and she ’ad a mind to put on ’er pink instead. Ever so careful, she was, about not wearin’ the same gown too often. Anyways, out I popped to the Crown and when I came back, there she was – stone dead. Give me the shock of me life, I can tell you.’

‘And how long were you gone on this occasion?’ Holmes inquired.

‘Not more than ’alf a tick.’

‘How long exactly is half a tick, pray?’

‘A few minutes; five at the most.’

‘What did you do when you discovered Mademoiselle Rossignol’s body?’

‘What do you think, dear? I let out an ’oller and Badger, the stage-doorkeeper, ’eard me and came runnin’ into the dressin’-room. We ’ad a good look round just in case the murderer was still ’angin’ about but we didn’t find no one.’

‘Where did you search?’

‘Every bloomin’ where,’ Miss Budd snapped as if the answer should have been obvious. ‘Be’ind the screen and the curtains, even under the dressin’-table but there wasn’t a blessed soul in the place.’

‘What happened next?’

‘Badger went off to fetch Mr Merriwick and, as I was took bad – the shock, you know, as I’d been with Mademoiselle for these past fifteen years – I ’ad to go outside meself. One of the ’igh-wire ladies, ’er in the silver spangles, took me into ’er dressin’-room and gave me a whiff of smellin’-salts to bring me round.’

‘So Mademoiselle Rossignol’s room was left unguarded?’

‘Well, I suppose it was,’ Miss Budd conceded. ‘But as it was empty, except for poor Mademoiselle’s body, I don’t see it makes no odds. Anyways, Badger was back within minutes with Mr Merriwick and, as soon as ’e’d took a look round the door, he locked the place up and put the key in ’is pocket. And that’s all I know.’

‘Not quite, I think,’ said Holmes. ‘Had Mademoiselle Rossignol any enemies to your knowledge?’

Miss Budd coloured up immediately, two spots of bright red appearing on her withered cheeks.

‘No, she ’ad not!’ she retorted angrily. ‘And anyone as says she ’ad is lyin’.’ Scrambling down from the chair on to her tiny legs, Miss Budd scuttled away across the room, adding over her shoulder, ‘I’m off! I’m not stayin’ ’ere to listen to tittle-tattle.’

‘Please be good enough to send Badger to me,’ Holmes called after her.

Her only reply was the bang of the door as she slammed it shut behind her.

Holmes leaned back in his chair with a chuckle.

‘Quite an indomitable character and obviously fiercely loyal to her mistress. Well, if Miss Budd is not prepared to gossip, perhaps Badger will oblige us. You followed the logic behind my questions, Watson?’

‘Yes, I think so, Holmes. The murderer must have entered the dressing-room and concealed himself behind the screen while Miss Budd was absent, waiting to escort Mademoiselle Rossignol from the stage. As it was part of a regular routine, this surely implies that, whoever he was, he must have known of the habit and therefore is not someone from outside but is more likely to be found either among the performers or the theatre staff?’

‘Well reasoned, my dear fellow! You are becoming so familiar with my deductive methods that I can see I shall have to look to my laurels. We may further deduce that, when Miss Budd left the dressing-room on the second occasion to fetch the half-pint of porter, the murderer emerged from his place of concealment and proceeded to strangle Mademoiselle Rossignol with one of her own stockings. Do make a note of that fact, by the way. It is quite crucial to the investigation. There remains one vital question to which I hope Badger will supply the answer. At what point did the murderer leave the dressing-room? Ah, I think that may be him now!’ Holmes broke off to exclaim as there came a knock on the door. ‘Come!’

At this invitation, a lugubrious man in a cap and muffler entered, the same individual whom I had seen a little earlier looking out from the booth beside the stage-door. Although his hair was grey, his walrus moustache was dyed a rich mahogany shade from a liberal consumption of cheap shag tobacco and, I suspected from the odour permeating the air about him, of strong ale as well.

Badger had plenty to say on the subject of Mademoiselle Rossignol’s movements in answer to Holmes’ first question.

‘Yes, I saw ’er come off stage, sir, with ’er dresser,’ he said, after giving a few preliminary wheezes like an old harmonium which is reluctant to produce its first note. ‘I can see every thin’ what goes on from that cubby-’ole of mine. Saw ’er go into ’er dressing-room; saw Aggie Budd come out again a few minutes later to go off for her ’er ladyship’s ’alf pint of porter and I saw ’er come back, too.’

‘One moment, pray,’ Holmes said, holding up a hand to stem Badger’s flow. ‘Let us go back to a point a little earlier. Did you see anyone enter the dressing-room between the time Miss Budd left it to wait for her mistress and their return?’

Badger blew out his moustache as he considered this question.

‘Can’t say I did, sir. But I wasn’t watchin’ all that carefully at that particular time. There was too many of ’em comin’ and goin’. Them seals, for one. I ’ates performin’ h’animals!’ Badger exclaimed suddenly in an unexpected outburst of rage. ‘Leavin’ their callin’-cards everywhere for others to clean up after ’em and needin’ fish and raw meat at h’ungodly hours! It h’aint Christian! Give me h’acrobats any day!’

‘Yes, quite!’ Holmes murmured. ‘But pray let us return to the subject, Badger. What happened after Miss Budd came back from the Crown public house?’

‘Well, the next thing I knew, she’d let out this scream – blood-curdlin’, it was, sir – and when I went to h’investigate, there was Mam’zelle lyin’ stretched out across the dressin’-table as dead as a mutton-chop.’

‘I understand you and Miss Budd searched the room?’

‘We did, sir.’

‘But found no one?’

‘No; and that’s somethin’ I’ve been cudgellin’ my brains over ever since. ‘Ooever did ’er in must ’ave vanished into thin h’air, ’cos ’e ’adn’t come through that door to my certain knowledge and ’e wasn’t anywhere in the room neither. So where was ’e? That’s what I want to know?’

‘A most pertinent question!’ said Holmes. ‘And one I shall make it my best endeavour to answer. Now what of Mademoiselle Rossignol herself? French, was she not?’

‘French?’ Badger gave a contemptuous sniff. ‘There was nothin’ French about ’er, unless you count the scent she used to squirt all over ’erself. Born Lizzie Biggs, she was, in Bermondsey. But talk about h’airs!’

‘Hairs?’ Holmes inquired, as nonplussed as I was by this enigmatic statement. ‘You mean the wig she was accustomed to wearing?’

‘That, too,’ Badger replied almost as cryptically. ‘But I was referrin’ more to ’er manner. ‘’Oity-toity, sir. Treated the likes of me as dirt. Not that she ’ad anythin’ to be proud of. I knew ’er, sir, and ’er comin’s and goin’s. Saw it all from that little cubby-’ole of mine.’

At this, he dropped one eyelid in a most suggestive wink, the implications of which were only too painful for it was indeed distressing for me to have to sit there listening in silence, while the unspeakable Badger stripped from Mademoiselle Rossignol the last vestiges of womanly decency and dignity.

Holmes approached this delicate subject with circumspection.

‘I take it, Badger,’ said he, ‘that you are referring to gentlemen?’

‘If that’s ’ow you wants to put it, sir. Gentlemen’s ’ardly the word I’d use meself.’

‘And did they by any chance include anyone among tonight’s performers?’

‘It’s more a question of ’oo wasn’t h’included. She’d ’ad ’er little fling with all of ’em at one time or another.’

‘All of them!’ I burst out, unable to remain silent any longer.

Badger turned a knowing glance in my direction.

‘H’every one of ’em, sir; on and off, if you gets my meanin’.’

‘Thank you, Badger,’ said Holmes. ‘I think Dr Watson and I have heard enough.’

As Badger touched his cap and shuffled from the room, my old friend turned to me with a concerned expression.

‘I am so sorry, my dear fellow. These revelations have quite clearly distressed you. It is never pleasant to discover that someone one admires has feet of clay.’

I was deeply touched by his words. Although at times he could be selfish and inconsiderate, it was at moments like these,
when Holmes was at his most kind-hearted and solicitous, that I realized what a true friend I had in him.

I was prevented from replying by the arrival of a message from Mr Merriwick, informing us that a Scotland Yard Inspector and his assistants were at that moment entering the building, an interruption for which I was profoundly grateful for my heart was still too full to allow me to speak.

By the time we had emerged from the manager’s office and had made our way to the back-stage area, the five uniformed police officers had already divested themselves of their wet capes, while one of their number, a short, lean man in plain-clothes, who appeared to be in charge, was standing with his back to us, deep in conversation with Mr Merriwick.

‘Lestrade!’ Holmes exclaimed, striding forward, at which the figure turned towards us and I recognised the sallow features of the Inspector whom I had first encountered during the investigation into the murders of Enoch J. Drebber and his private secretary, Joseph Stangerson.
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It was clear from his expression that Lestrade neither expected nor welcomed our presence.

‘You, Mr Holmes!’ he cried. ‘And Dr Watson, too! What may I ask are you doing here?’

‘We were among the audience when the murder occurred. The management has retained our services,’ Holmes explained briskly. ‘Your arrival is well timed, Inspector. As far as Dr Watson and myself are concerned, the case is solved. All that remains to be done is to arrest the murderer, a task which you will no doubt perform with your usual sangfroid.’

The Inspector’s astonishment was no less than my own.

‘Solved!’ I exclaimed. ‘But, Holmes, I do not understand. What evidence have we discovered that reveals the murderer’s identity?’

‘Facts, my dear Watson. On what else can any successful investigation be based?’

Lestrade, his face expressing both incredulity and suspicion, intervened at this point.

‘That’s all very well but I need to know what facts you’re referring to, Mr Holmes. I cannot go arresting suspects merely on your recommendation without knowing all the evidence and judging it for myself. You could be wrong.’

Holmes, whose self-assurance could at times be infuriating, smiled confidently, not at all put out by Lestrade’s scepticism.

‘In this particular case, you may take my word, my good Lestrade, that I am not. As for the evidence, you shall shortly be apprised of that. If you care to come with me to Mademoiselle Rossignol’s dressing-room, you shall not only examine the scene of the crime but I shall acquaint you with all the other information I have gathered from the lady’s dresser and the stage-doorkeeper. And you will need to read this,’ Holmes concluded, taking from his pocket his copy of the programme of that night’s bill at the Cambridge. ‘Do not trouble yourself with the second half of the performance. It is not relevant to the inquiry.’

Still looking bemused and clutching the programme in one hand, Lestrade followed as Holmes led the way to Mademoiselle Rossignol’s dressing-room and flung open the door.

‘Now, Lestrade,’ said he. ‘Look about you carefully. Observe the screen placed across the corner where the murderer hid when he first entered the room. His footprints are clearly discernible in the spilt powder on the floor. Note the window which is heavily barred. Note also the body, lying slumped across the top of the dressing-table with one lavender silk stocking about the neck and with one bare foot exposed below the hem of the gown. And finally note with particular care the way in which the train and skirts of the gown have been arranged.’

Both Lestrade and I looked most earnestly about us as Holmes enumerated these various items, Lestrade for the first time while I carefully re-examined each in turn, eager to discover what evidence I had failed to notice on my earlier visit to the room.

But none of them, neither the window, the screen nor the body, offered any further clues.

As for Mademoiselle Rossignol’s gown, there was nothing about that either which might suggest the identity of the murderer although on this occasion, prompted by Holmes’ instruction to note it with particular care, I remarked that its skirts and long train had been draped over the edges of the stool in order to preserve from creasing, I imagined, the layers of extravagant ruffles with which both were decorated.

As we were making this examination, Holmes continued with his explanation for Lestrade’s benefit.

‘We know from the statement given by Miss Budd, Mademoiselle Rossignol’s dresser, that she left the room on two separate occasions, the first to wait in the wings for her mistress to come off stage which is when, I suggest, the murderer took the opportunity to slip inside unnoticed and to conceal himself behind the screen. The second occasion was when she went to the Crown public house on her mistress’s instructions to buy half a pint of porter. On her return, she found Mademoiselle Rossignol dead. Let us pause there, Lestrade, and reflect on what evidence we have so far and what we may assume happened next.’