in all corners of the stage, assisted by the artistes themselves, most of whom had not yet changed back into everyday attire.
“Has anybody looked outside the house?” Whittaker asked, abruptly taking charge as he moved to the center of the stage.
“Madge and I did,” one of the chorus girls volunteered. “We went right out onto the driveway and had a look round the paths generally, but we didn’t see anything unusual. In any case, to get away from the back stage here Vera would have had to pass us, and we were standing in the wings there all the time watching the show.”
“You watched the illusion, you mean?” Whittaker questioned.
“Yes....” The girl hesitated and her shoulders shrugged. “Not that that solves anything. We’re as mystified as everybody else.”
Whittaker made up his mind and turned to Kestrel. “Mr. Kestrel, I’m leaving it to you to see that nobody leaves here whilst I’m absent. I’m going to ring up the Yard and have your daughter’s description circulated immediately. I’m also getting some experts down here to take photographs, statements, and so forth. I’ll be back in a moment—and none of you are to touch anything, if you please.”
Definitely worried Whittaker descended from the stage and went as quickly as possible into the house regions. He was decidedly worried. It was rare that the onus rested squarely on him: he was accustomed to sharing it with his dyspeptic superior, Chief-Inspector Garth, but on this occasion the whole thing had dropped right in his lap.
“Whittaker here,” he said briefly, when finally he had made phone contact with the Yard. “Send a couple of men down to Victor de Maine-Kestrel’s place immediately—The Marlows, West Kensington: they’ll be needed for guard duty. Also a photographer. I’ll wait.”
“What about Inspector Garth, Sergeant?” came the voice at the other end. “Don’t you want him, too?”
“More than anything else on earth, but he’s in Kent.”
“He was. He came in half an hour ago, and right now he’s in his office, cleaning up accumulated reports and correspondence. I’ll switch you through.”
With a sense of vast relief Whittaker waited, then Mortimer Garth’s gravelly voice came through.
“Yes? Garth here. Chief-Inspector Garth, C.I.D.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
