The Man on the Train Page 3

  ‘What are you doing now?’ said Flora, as Angela entered the lobby. ‘Come and see the rehearsal. We have to rearrange a few things so it’ll be a little rough and ready, but you’ll have fun, I promise!’

  Angela had been hoping for an invitation to do just that, and so it was agreed. She would have preferred to take a taxi to the theatre, for the rain was still falling heavily, but it was only a few hundred yards away and nobody else seemed to have any idea of doing such a thing, so she and Flora huddled together under Flora’s umbrella and the two of them hurried out into the street, dodging puddles and doing their best to avoid being splashed by passing motor-cars.

  The theatre building was a plain affair in red brick with a few flourishes in white marble around the windows. “NEPTUNE THEATER,” Angela read as she looked up at the marquee. They went in through the stage door and directly to the auditorium, which was already in a bustle, with many of the company talking animatedly in groups by the stage and brandishing sheets of music or odd-looking props, as men in shirt-sleeves carried things about. At the back of the stage a large piece of scenery depicting buffalo on a prairie was being lowered and raised repeatedly. On its final journey up it seemed to lose interest halfway, for it stopped and hung there, several feet from the ground. Meanwhile, three frowning men were striding about on the stage, examining various objects and discussing something with great concentration. To judge from their attire and their sober demeanour Angela might almost have guessed that they had come to assess the value of the building for sale, and so she got something of a surprise when one of them suddenly walked up to another and kicked him vigorously in the rear. He fell down, leapt immediately to his feet, and fell down again, bringing the first man down with him as he did so. The third man ran across and tripped over the first two. Then all three of them stood up and resumed their discussion as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Those are the comedians,’ whispered Flora. ‘They’re awfully popular, but I don’t know whether they’ll stay long. Mr. Owens caught them with liquor a few nights ago, and he doesn’t like that kind of thing. He said if he catches them again they’ll be out.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Angela. She looked about her. The auditorium was dark and chilly, and she tried to imagine how it would look that evening, when it was brightly lit and full of people.

  ‘Oh, there’s Howard,’ said Flora, as she spotted her husband standing near the front. ‘I must just talk to him a moment.’

  She went off, and Angela drifted slowly after her. Two ladies of exquisite gentility had now taken to the stage, and had embarked upon a duet, accompanied on the piano by one of the comedians. Angela watched for a minute until her attention was caught by the sight of Daisy Owens standing next to Jimmy and Bart Renshaw, the acrobats. The younger one, Bart, was smiling and seemed to be trying to engage Daisy in conversation, but her manner remained cool and distant. She moved away and the smile immediately disappeared from Bart’s face and his brows drew together. Angela looked from him to Daisy with curiosity. She was about to approach Daisy herself when she became aware of someone standing at her shoulder, and she turned to see a dark young woman next to her, wearing nothing but a leotard and a great quantity of kohl.

  ‘Theodosia La Reine,’ said the young woman, and held out her left hand, her right one being at that moment occupied in holding her right foot, which she had somehow extended up her back and over her shoulder. Angela shook the hand politely but carefully, fearing that her new acquaintance would fall over if jogged. Despite her exotic name, Miss La Reine’s accent was purest Brooklyn. ‘I’m the contortionist,’ she announced somewhat unnecessarily, and resumed her normal posture. ‘What do you think of the show?’

  ‘I haven’t seen very much of it yet,’ said Angela.

  ‘I’ve seen better,’ said Miss La Reine with admirable objectivity. ‘If you ask me, we got too many singers. What we need is an animal act. I was in a show last year with trained ponies and they brought the house down every night. I told Mr. Owens about it, said he ought to try and get ’em for this company, but he wasn’t interested. We need ponies, I said. Or dogs. Performing dogs are always popular too. Somebody here had a dog act once. Now who was it? The acrobats, maybe?’ She chewed gum with some energy as she tried to remember. ‘It’ll come back to me.’ She hooked her left knee over her shoulder absent-mindedly and seemed to go into a reverie. After a minute or so of silence Angela judged that she might retire from the conversation without being considered rude, and looked about for Daisy Owens. Daisy, it turned out, was about to begin a comic sketch with Hamilton Maywood. They performed very well together, and drew ripples of laughter from those standing about in the auditorium. They then proceeded to sing a romantic duet. Angela observed them thoughtfully, then saw Pearl Maywood standing not far off, watching her husband and Daisy closely.

  ‘Your husband has a fine voice,’ said Angela. Pearl unbent a little at this praise.

  ‘He does indeed,’ she said. ‘And to think he’d never have sung a note if I hadn’t persuaded him into it! He didn’t think he could do it,’ she explained, in reply to Angela’s questioning expression. ‘But I convinced him to try, and he’s never looked back.’

  ‘You are his manager, I understand.’

  ‘I am, and nobody better, if I say so myself. I know him inside out, and I know what he’s capable of, and what he isn’t.’ She frowned as the song was interrupted by a coughing fit. ‘There! I knew that would happen,’ she said crossly. ‘He would go and get himself drenched on the way to the matinee performance yesterday. If he comes down with a cold he won’t be able to sing for weeks.’

  ‘It’s just a little tickle, honey,’ Hamilton called to his wife. ‘Just the dust. No need to worry about a thing!’

  He made a pantomime of flapping dust motes away from himself. The song resumed and ended without further mishap, and it was decided to do a second run-through. Pearl’s expression became grim and her manner increasingly agitated as her husband gazed sentimentally into Daisy’s eyes and took her hand, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing. It seemed Ham was still not satisfied with the performance, however, for they began yet another run-through, and Angela took the opportunity to go and stand next to the Renshaws. They were watching the rehearsal, and Bart in particular was gazing at Daisy intently. Having attracted their attention with an apologetic cough, Angela introduced herself and said that she knew their brother a little and had arranged for him to see a lawyer, since he had done her a good turn once and she wanted to repay the favour. It was not exactly a lie—she did, after all, know him a little—but if she had hoped to curry favour with the Renshaws by this means she was disappointed, for they did not seem in the least impressed at her intervention.

  ‘You might as well have saved your money,’ said Jimmy, the eldest. He was some years older than William, she judged, and had mostly retained his English accent.

  ‘Why? Do you believe he did it?’ said Angela.

  ‘They found the money on him, didn’t they?’ said Bart, also still unmistakably English. He looked sullen.

  ‘Some of it, yes, but not all. What happened to the rest of it?’

  ‘He’ll have found some way to hide it,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘But can you believe such a thing of your own brother? Has he done anything of this sort before?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ said Jimmy. ‘But he wanted the money, right enough. Wanted to set up a business, didn’t he? He talked about it all the time. Never mind that he’d be leaving us in the lurch. But then he always had an easy time of it, right from when he was born. We’re the ones who’ve done all the hard work over the years, and he comes in and takes all the credit for it.’

  ‘We can do better without him anyway,’ said Bart. ‘He was always making mistakes. We’ll get someone in who knows what he’s doing.’

  It seemed there was no love lost between the Renshaws and their half-brother.
Angela wondered how the act had stayed together for so long. Jimmy looked at her with sudden interest.

  ‘So you’re paying for his lawyer, eh?’ he said. ‘I don’t know how he does it.’

  ‘Does what?’ said Angela.

  Jimmy’s mouth turned up at the corners in an unpleasant smile and he turned to face her fully.

  ‘Listen, miss. You’re not the first woman he’s taken for a fool and you won’t be the last. If you’ll take my advice you’ll ignore that wide-eyed innocent act of his. He knows what he’s about, well enough.’

  ‘As do I, I hope,’ said Angela, fixing him with a cool stare. ‘I thank you for your concern, but as far as I’m aware I’m still in possession of all my faculties, and have no intention of being taken for a fool by anyone. I saw a young man in need of assistance, and it just so happened that I was in a position to provide it. And a good thing, too, since it seems he can expect no help from his own family,’ she added severely.

  ‘Family, indeed!’ said Jimmy with a snort. He might have continued, but just then someone called him onto the stage, and he and Bart went off, Bart with one last backward glance at Angela.

  Angela was left discomfited and taken aback at the exchange. Was she being stupid? Had she been deceived by a pleasing appearance and an engaging manner? It would not be the first time, she was forced to admit. Perhaps she was all wrong—perhaps things were exactly as they seemed and William had taken the money. For a few moments she was quite discomposed and began to wonder whether she was indeed making an awful fool of herself, as Jimmy had suggested. Then she thought back to the facts she had learned that morning and chided herself for her doubts. No; she was sure her suspicions were justified. She was certain that someone else had taken the three thousand dollars and deliberately put the blame on William—if for no other reason than the fact that only a hundred dollars of it had been found in his room, for where could the rest of it be? Had he really taken it, then surely it would have been found by now, since all his things had been thoroughly searched. Furthermore, from all she had heard so far, there were at least three people who might have disliked him enough to have tried to pin the crime on him—two of them being his own brothers.

  She wanted to know more, and cast her eyes about. Fortunately, her new friend Flora Winterson was at hand to answer all questions and confirm what Angela already suspected.

  ‘Yes, Bart was sweet on Daisy before she married Mr. Owens,’ said Flora, nodding. ‘And I guess he still is, although I don’t think she ever returned the feeling. Anyhow, the rumour was that he and William fell out over her—why, I don’t know, since she’s married to Mr. Owens and he gets angry if she even speaks to another man.’

  She and Howard were then called to go on stage, and Angela looked on as, with one or two false starts, they performed a dazzling fox-trot. The morning had been all very entertaining, but she had been at the theatre for some time now and had not yet managed to speak to Daisy Owens. Nobody seemed to know where she was, but at last one of the comedians said he thought he had seen her heading for the exit. Angela sighed ruefully and was just thinking of returning to the hotel when she was accosted by Daisy herself, who seemed nervous, for she was twisting her wedding ring round and round on her finger. She glanced from side to side, as though to make sure they would not be overheard, then said:

  ‘I’ve just heard from Jimmy that you were the one who sent the lawyer to William. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, quite true,’ replied Angela, unsure as to whether she ought to have mentioned it at all.

  The girl let out a sharp breath, and her eyes opened wide in appeal.

  ‘Have you seen him? Is he—is he all right?’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t seen him, but as far as I know he’s well—or as well as anyone can be in the circumstances.’

  ‘Did he tell you about all this? Did he tell you what happened? What did he say?’

  ‘Why, he told me what he was accused of, and that he didn’t do it, but not much else. I take it you’re worried about him.’

  Daisy turned suddenly to Angela, and her eyes opened wider than ever.

  ‘Oh, so terribly much!’ she said. ‘I’m frightened they’re going to put him in jail for ten years or more, and if they do it will be all my fault!’

  ‘Why, what do you mean?’

  Daisy hesitated. She seemed fearful.

  ‘You won’t say a word, will you? It’s only that I think he took the money to help me.’ She took a deep breath and went on, ‘You see, I was unhappy. Emmett hasn’t been—he’s not—well, he’s unkind to me. He was always a little forceful in his character, but I thought he would change after we were married. I was wrong. I try to please him but I can’t seem to get anything right, and he gets so furious with me that I’m quite afraid of him.’ She glanced around again, then back at Angela, and her cheeks went slightly pink. ‘William took pity on me and was kind—he even wanted to speak to Emmett about it. I told him not to, because I was frightened of what might happen to me afterwards, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying just a little of what he thought. I was right, and it did no good—all it did was to make Emmett suspicious that there was something more than friendship between William and me, and now he watches me like a hawk all the time.’

  ‘Was there something more than friendship between you?’ Angela asked gently.

  Daisy’s cheeks went pinker.

  ‘N—no,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Not exactly. At least, not on my side. I made my vows and I’ve been a good wife. If things had been different, then maybe I would have—but it’s useless to talk of it. I told William I’d made my choice and had to live with it, so he had to live with it too.’

  ‘Then he does care for you. Did he ask you to leave your husband?’

  ‘He tried to, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. But I’m rather afraid he might have misunderstood something I said. We were talking, and I said, not really meaning anything, that even if I wanted to leave Emmett I couldn’t afford to because I had no money to live on. I’ve wondered ever since whether William took that little remark to mean something it didn’t.’

  ‘You think he might have understood it to mean that you would come away with him if some money could be found?’

  Daisy nodded, a tear trembling in the corner of her eye.

  ‘I can’t help thinking he must have decided to act on what I said. I had no idea he’d do such a thing, but I’m sure he did it for me, so if he goes to jail I’ll be to blame!’

  ‘Then you believe he did it?’ said Angela.

  ‘I don’t want to believe it, but who else could it have been?’

  ‘Nobody, it seems,’ said Angela, almost to herself.

  ‘Mrs. Marchmont, please tell me the truth,’ said Daisy. ‘What are the chances of him going to jail? Is there anything that might let him off?’

  ‘I hope so,’ replied Angela. ‘Perhaps you might help him yourself, in fact. Tell me, are you quite certain that the money was there before you and your husband went down to breakfast?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Emmett keeps a very close eye on it. He keeps it in a locked box in his trunk, and has the key with him at all times. Before we left the room I certainly saw him open the box and look inside.’

  ‘Did he take any of the money out?’

  ‘Why, I couldn’t say. I don’t think so. If he did, it can’t have been much.’

  ‘And when you came back from breakfast, how was the theft discovered?’

  ‘The trunk was open and the box too,’ said Daisy. ‘We both saw it straightaway. I don’t know how the thief got in, as there’s only one key. Emmett keeps it on a chain with all his other keys and never lets it out of his sight.’

  ‘Perhaps whoever it was had a copy made,’ suggested Angela.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said doubtfully. She glanced up and jumped. ‘Oh, my, Emmett is here! I must go. Please do
n’t say a word to anyone about what I told you, will you?’

  Angela promised all due discretion, and Daisy hurried across to her husband, who, it turned out, had been trying to see William, it seemed with a view to threatening him with violence if he did not reveal the whereabouts of the missing takings. Angela frowned. She supposed she ought to speak to Emmett Owens about the money, but the idea did not appeal—and besides, he was now standing at the front of the auditorium, bellowing instructions to the Renshaws, who were listening sulkily. She found Flora and promised to come and see the show that night, then went back to the hotel, from where she called the attorney and asked if he might be able to arrange for her to visit William the next day. William had closed up like an oyster and was refusing to say a thing, the lawyer informed her, and he would be only too happy to let her try and get something out of him, since he had had no luck himself. After that, she went up to her room, there to gaze out of the window at the rain-soaked street and wonder whether Emmett Owens had been jealous enough of William to plant money in his room and have him arrested for theft.

  The rain was still falling heavily the next morning, and as Angela arrived in the lobby she realized to her dismay that she had forgotten to buy an umbrella the previous day as she had intended to. She peered out into the street, searching for a taxi, for she was most reluctant to step out into the deluge, but it was difficult to attract attention from where she stood, and so it looked as though she would have to get wet.

  ‘Can I be of assistance?’ came a voice at her side, and she turned to see a smiling Hamilton Maywood, looking as handsome as ever—and more to the point, offering to escort her out under his smart green umbrella. ‘I hate getting wet myself,’ he confided, as he walked her out into the street. ‘There’s no worse feeling in the world than sitting in clammy clothes all day, so I avoid it as much as possible, and always make a point of carrying an umbrella around with me at this time of year. This is a new one, do you like it? I bought it yesterday as my old one was getting a little shabby.’