Read Online Troubles in the Brasses by Charlotte MacLeod - Free Book Online Page B

Madoc surmised that men who sang opera and oratorio as often as Pitney and Kight did were accustomed to hearing loud soprano shrieks and could shut them out at will. He shut himself away from the two singers and moved on to the next room.
    A light tap was answered by an “ungh.” Madoc opened it and stuck his head in. Joe Ragovsky was awake, though just barely. The man in the other bed either wasn’t or was pretending not to be. This must be David Gabriel, the oboist. No wonder Madoc hadn’t been able to remember what Gabriel looked like; he had the kind of face that was designed to be instantly forgotten, and was quite wasted on a woodwind. It would have made a pickpocket’s or a swindler’s fortune. He said, “Sorry, wrong room,” and closed the door again.
    He tried the same tactic on the door across the hall, got no response, and opened it a crack, careful to lift up on the knob so the hinges wouldn’t squeak.
    “Get out of here or I’ll yell the place down.”
    The voice was Corliss Blair’s. The clarinetist was sitting bolt upright, clutching two handfuls of blanket around her. She had a headful of pink foam rollers; her pink flannel nightgown had a frill around the neck. It was a pity Lucy Shadd’s gown hadn’t one. Madoc stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
    “Don’t bother, that’s already been tried and it hasn’t seemed to work. I’m sorry to barge in on you ladies, but my intentions are strictly honorable.”
    “Shucks,” said Corliss, “I was afraid they might be. Sorry, Madoc, I thought you were one of the happiness boys. We’ve already had to throw Cedric Rintoul out of here once. What’s up besides you?”
    “There’s been an unfortunate incident down the hall.”
    “What sort of incident?”
    “Somebody apparently tried to strangle Lucy Shadd with an A-string.”
    “Should have used a G-string,” mumbled a voice from under the blankets in the other bed. Helene Dufresne emerged slowly from her cocoon. “Good God, is it daylight already? What time is breakfast?”
    “Oh shush, Helene,” said Corliss. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about who tried to murder Lucy?”
    “No, I’m curious about whose A-string they used. There was a D-string missing out of my cello case. I noticed it last night when I was packing my cello. You’re sure it’s not a D-string, Madoc? They’re rather hard to tell apart if you aren’t a string player yourself.”
    “I’m not sure of anything. I thought at first it was just a piece of wire. Frieda Loye told me it was a violin A-string, but she didn’t have her contacts in. Maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me an expert opinion later on.”
    “I’d be delighted. Is the string still around Lucy’s neck?”
    “No, I found it on the floor under the bed. The assumption is that the assailant slipped the string around Lucy’s neck while she was still asleep, then crossed the ends over and pulled.”
    “What a splendid idea. Cheap and easy. Only I gather it didn’t work. I’m surprised Lucy let the person get away instead of showing him how it ought to be done. She doesn’t usually stand for inefficiency. So that’s what all the howling was about just now? I thought it must be Frieda having another nightmare.”
    “Frieda insists Lucy began screaming before she did, but Lucy claims it was Frieda’s screams that scared the intruder away. I suppose it’s possible Frieda did in fact have a nightmare at the opportune time and start yelling before she woke up. There’s a good deal of confusion as to the actual sequence of events. They both appear to have been sleeping very soundly when the room was entered.”
    “You talk like a policeman,” said Corliss.
    “That’s because I am a policeman.”
    “You’re kidding. I thought you must be a folk singer.”
    “No, I just need a haircut. In point of fact, I can’t tell one note from another.”
    “That needn’t prevent you from being a folk singer.”
    “I’m afraid I