‘Why Darvell? Because in ancient mythology, Clio’s son was murdered. Renalda nearly got two for the price of one, because the real-life mother of the stage Orpheus—Calliope, the chief of the nine Muses, represented by Miles Stone’s mother, Rachel—was seated in the dress circle underneath. But Zachary yelled as he fell, enough for her to look up and get out of the way.’
‘Do you have proof for any of this?’ asked May, shaking his head sadly.
‘I bet you anything that we’ll find out Zachary is, you know, a confirmed bachelor. Clio’s son was murdered by his male lover, and a flower sprang up in the blood he shed. The blood-spattered silk carnation in Darvell’s buttonhole, remember? Whoever gave it to him is implicated in the murder, but we don’t know where he got it. Which brings me to the woman he missed, Stone’s mother. She had time to get clear, and it’s ironic that she was alerted by the shrill blast of a flute, because it’s the sound that always accompanies Calliope in Greek mythology.
‘Andreas partially failed this time, but he can’t allow himself to stop, so he must go on removing the power of each Muse, moving towards the day when he will be free of them all. Thalia, one of the three Graces, represented by Jan Petrovic, is missing presumed dead, then Melpomene, in her mask of tragedy, represented by the figure of Valerie Marchmont, Public Opinion, gets flattened. Five Muses down, four more—Erato, Polyhymnia, Clio and Calliope—still to go. Then he’ll finally be liberated from his mother, and free to act for himself.’
‘He’s a cripple, Arthur. He can barely manage to get out of a chair.’
‘For a man who makes a noise like a pile of saucepans falling downstairs when he walks, we still had no idea he was attending rehearsals. He knows every inch of the theatre. Everyone keeps telling you the building is filled with hiding places. It’s a mechanical hall of mirrors.’
‘I don’t know—he doesn’t sound like the person Betty Trammel saw when she stayed overnight in the theatre. How could he have vanished from the roof right in front of the firewatcher? And how could he have got in and out of Jan Petrovic’s flat without being seen? Anyway, why is it so damned important for Andreas Renalda to be free of his protectors?’
‘Because they prevent him from doing the one thing he longs for most of all.’
‘Which is what?’
‘To take revenge on his brother for the death of his wife. Revenge, John—that most classic of all motives in mythology. He can’t do it so long as he thinks the Muses guard him. So he’s showing them who’s boss. He’s humiliated them and now he’s sacrificing them. The whole play has been set up just to do that.’
‘And the Muses will let him without striking him dead with a thunderbolt? What about the creature? The terrible face? Others have seen it at night in the theatre.’
‘Masks and make-up. The prop room is filled with disguises. They’re used in virtually every scene of the production. They must be lying around all over the place. A Greek tragedy mask? Bit of an obvious touch, that.’
‘Do you know what I think?’ said May, his voice cracking with anger. ‘You’re deranged. In a week of utter lunacies, you’ve finally lost your mind. Do you have any idea how insane all of this sounds?’
Bryant’s eyes widened even further. ‘That’s why I didn’t want to tell you, not until I was sure my theory was watertight.’
‘I think you’re tight.’
‘No, no. I have you to thank for seeing clearly. You’re part of the maieutic process.’
‘The what?’
‘Socratic midwifery.’ He shook out his fingers in frustration. ‘You know, the easing out of ideas. You help things out of my head, things that were already there but unformed. It’s because you’re so sensible, you’re like the control part of an experiment.’
‘All right, let’s confront Andreas Renalda and you’ll see how crazy this—delusion of yours is.’
At the top of the drive, the magnate’s housekeeper had heard the car doors slamming and now stood in the doorway to the entrance hall. ‘Mr Renalda is getting ready for bed,’ she warned as they approached. ‘He won’t want to see anyone.’
‘We’ll wait downstairs while he dresses,’ said Bryant, loosening his scarf and walking into the hall. ‘Can we get some strong tea? It’s been a long night.’
After a few minutes Andreas Renalda entered the lounge. He was dressed in a blue silk dressing gown, and was drying his neck with a towel. The steel calipers were still fitted to his legs, and May saw now that they were bolted through the flesh of his shins, deep into the twisted bones.