Free The Case of the Gilded Fly by Edmund Crispin

followed Yseut slowly downstairs.
    Nigel went on to his room frankly bewildered. The whole business was inconceivable. Troilus’ words came unbidden to his mind.
    â€˜O madness of discourse,
    That cause sets up with and against itself!
    Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt
    Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
    Without revolt …’
    Of course it was none of his business; of course it was nothing to make such a hell of a fuss about. And yet speculation refused to be quieted, and an unformed fear hovered persistently at theback of his consciousness. It was with difficulty that he persuaded himself to think of other things.
    When he next saw Yseut he had been sitting in the bar since ten o’clock with Robert, talking rather awkwardly about indifferent things. About ten past ten Donald Fellowes had come in, deposited an armful of organ music on top of a radiator, and joined them. He was not pleasant company that morning – in fact he seemed to have relapsed into a permanent state of sullenness. He very ostentatiously directed his conversation towards Nigel, an attitude which succeeded in making Robert, who two days ago would have considered it merely amusing, extremely irritable; and since he talked mainly about music, a subject of which Nigel knew little and wished to know even less, conversation soon became merely sporadic all round. All three of them refused obstinately to refer to personal matters, which precluded more than a few vaguely conventional remarks about the previous night’s party. And Donald was obviously suffering from a hang-over.
    The rehearsal that morning was not until eleven o’clock. After the first rehearsal Nigel had not been to the theatre, and felt on the whole disinclined to do so before at any rate the dress-rehearsal.
    â€˜We shall have an hour’s break for lunch this morning,’ Robert said, ‘and then go on through the afternoon.’
    â€˜Would you tell Helen I’d be glad to see her if she cares to lunch with me? I shall be in the lounge here from twelve o’clock onwards.’
    â€˜Helen? Yes, by all means.’
    It was then that Yseut entered the bar. She was dressed as untidily as when Nigel had first seen her that morning, and still carried her bag and her notebook. He saw that as she came in an expression of black anger appeared on Robert’s face, and that he half started up from his chair; then relaxed, and sat back looking extremely uncomfortable. ‘Afraid she’ll hang about his neck in public and make the whole thing obvious with a lot of dreary innuendoes,’ thought Nigel, and added the mental footnote: ‘which is exactly what she will do.’ Yseut met Robert’s eyes with a look in which triumph and defiance were oddly mingled, flung down her things, and swaggered to the bar. Noneof the three men moved to get her a drink, but she watched them closely as she ordered brandy and walked back with it.
    â€˜Well, my children,’ she said, ‘how are you all feeling after last night’s carouse? Poor Donald, you look a bit green.’
    â€˜I think it would be more appropriate for us to ask you that question,’ Nigel said drily.
    â€˜Was I very tight last night?’ She laughed unconvincingly. ‘Well, one’s only young once, as the dreary cliché has it. I – er – went to your room this morning, Robert dear. I was so sorry not to find you in. I’m afraid when dear Nigel saw me coming out he thought the most dreadful things. And Rachel as well. Such a pity I had to run into her: I thought I was being so discreet.’ She picked up her glass with a shaky hand and swallowed half the contents at a gulp. ‘Still, I found what I went for.’ She smiled silkily.
    â€˜I’m delighted,’ Robert said. ‘And as you say, what a pity I missed you.’
    â€˜Never mind – darling.’
    (The innuendoes have begun, thought Nigel