Read Online Death at the Opera by Gladys Mitchell - Free Book Online

occupant of the dressing-room and said:
    â€œWell, Moira? Nearly ready? I expect the others have all gone.”
    It was the thankless duty of those of the staff who had been acting as stewards to see the audience off the building, and then to go round to the dressing-rooms and chivvy the children home. Before Moira could make any reply, there came a series of light taps at the dressing-room door, and the Headmaster’s voice outside said:
    â€œGretta, how long?”
    â€œHaif a tick, Uncle,” replied his niece, collecting her Japanese costume preparatory to stowing it away.
    â€œRight. I shall be in my own room when you’re ready. I’ve told some of the girls to wait for Moira.”
    He went away, and the conversation died down among the three women as they hastily concluded their dressing and tidying-up. Then Alceste Boyle, ready to go, turned again to the girl in the far corner of the room, and said, a trifle sharply:
    â€œCome along, Moira. Surely you’re ready by now!”
    Moira, with a tear-stained face, came up to her, and said abruptly, because she was upset and nervous:
    â€œMrs. Boyle, I want to speak to you.”
    â€œSay on,” replied Alceste shortly. The tears had irritated her.
    â€œNot here,” said Moira. “Will you come outside a minute? I—I think I know where Miss Ferris is.”
    â€œWhat?” said Alceste, while Miss Freely and Miss Cliffordson came nearer. “What do you mean, child?”
    â€œShe’s dead,” said Moira. “I found out—I found her—in the interval I went for a drink—I didn’t like to spoil the show—I—she . . . Oh, they’ll hang him! And he can’t die! He can’t!”
    â€œGet out,” said Alceste to the younger mistresses. “Find Mr. Cliffordson at once. See whether it’s true.”
    The two went out, and shut the door behind them. When they had gone Alceste turned to the overwrought and frightened girl.
    â€œListen, Moira,” she said. “Nobody is going to hang. Now don’t be silly any more. I want you to pull yourself together. Stop crying. It’s quite all right. That’s better. Now tell me exactly what you did. Sit down in that chair. Take your time.”
    â€œI was thirsty, and I wanted a drink of water,” said the girl, “so I went to the water-lobby with one of the beakers out of the laboratory to get a drink. It was dark, and I tried to switch on the light, but it didn’t come, so I thought if I was careful not to knock the beaker on the tap, I could manage in the dark. I felt carefully, and I touched her. I—she was all wet—I went away. I didn’t know whether to tell anybody or not.”
    â€œYou don’t know, then, that it was Miss Ferris,” said Alceste quietly, “and you don’t know whether she was dead. Don’t think about it any more. The others will attend to her. Go along home now. Who’s going with you?”
    Moira mentioned the names of one or two of the girls who were in the chorus, and who went past the house where she lived in term-time, with her aunt. Alceste Boyle had just dismissed her when the Headmaster came in. His face was grey. He looked, for the first time in Alceste Boyle’s experience, an old man. He nodded in response to her raised eyebrows.
    â€œI’ve sent Browning for a doctor,” he said, “but there’s no doubt of it, poor woman. I wonder what on earth was the cause!”
    â€œBut how terrible!” Alceste said. “There will have to be an inquest, I suppose?”
    The words sounded banal and in rather bad taste, she thought, but the shock had been great. The Headmaster nodded.
    â€œBad for the school,” he said. “Well, you’ll be wanting to get home, I know. Good night. Don’t worry about it, will you? You’d better not see her. We’ve done what is necessary. Don’t