Rehearsals for Murder

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Authors: Elizabeth Ferrars
“But this brucine, Charlie. Please go on.”
    Charlie, like the others, was looking at the old man oddly.
    â€œWell,” said Charlie, “the queer thing is that a common or garden police sergeant should ever have heard of it.”
    â€œD’you mean,” said Toby, getting up and coming nearer to the group, “that Gurr said he thought she’d taken brucine?”
    â€œHe suggested it might be brucine,” said Charlie. “You see, I was up there with the sergeant and inspector, telling them about how I’d found her, and I said I should make a—guess at its having been strychnine she’d taken. And then the sergeant, who doesn’t look a particularly educated man, does he?—I mean, I shouldn’t think he’s ever seen the inside of a laboratory—anyway, he said, ‘Mightn’t it be brucine?’ I think that’s really very—curious.”
    Toby nodded. “About the most curious thing that’s——” But just then there occurred the violent movement that sooner or later was bound to come from Eve Clare.
    Actually it was the crash of glass that interrupted Toby. To the accompaniment of an explosive curse she had flung the empty glass she had been holding down onto the stone terrace outside the French window.
    â€œGod, I wish people wouldn’t do that sort of thing,” muttered Toby, and moved away, rubbing the back of his head as if that were where the sound had struck him.
    Eve spun round. “When’s all this going to be finished with?” she cried. “When are things going to be normal again? When are we going to get rid of policemen? Don’t stare at me all like a lot of dummies!”
    â€œEve dear,” said Lisbeth Gask drily, “it’s a bad idea to drink as much as you do, but since you’ve got the habit, suppose you have another.”
    â€œBut when? When , I want to know!” Eve’s voice was high and grating. “How long have we got to go on feeling as if we were bugs under a microscope?”
    â€œGoodness me,” said the little man in shorts, “you don’t need a microscope to see a bug, Eve. They’re simply enormous things. Why, in the flat I had in Regent’s Square——”
    â€œEve,” said Lisbeth with brisk authority, “why don’t you ring up Max and tell him to come round?”
    â€œIn the flat I had in Regent’s Square,” said Reginald Sand, “I practised throwing darts at them. Between about three and five of a summer morning there were nearly always several on view. So I used to leave a bunch of darts by my bed and if I happened to wake up——”
    â€œIt’s no use ringing him up,” said Eve. “He’s in London tonight. He’s doing a lecture each Wednesday and Saturday for the next month. But I did ring up and leave a message.” She crossed to the cocktail cabinet and poured herself another drink. “Anyone else?” She strolled back to the window. “This is about the most damnable thing that could have happened.”
    Lisbeth’s contemplation of Eve’s slim figure was more than usually sardonic. She remarked: “Druna’s just been telling us an odd thing she noticed. It was an odd thing. I noticed it, too, only I hadn’t connected——Hullo, Roger.” She smiled up at Roger Clare as he strode in.
    â€œGillett,” he said, “they want Gillett next. Where is he?”
    They all looked round.
    â€œWhy, he’s not here,” said Druna. “But he was, just a little while ago.”
    â€œWhere’s he got to?” said Roger impatiently.
    â€œHow should we know?” said Lisbeth.
    â€œBut the inspector wants him.”
    â€œThen tell the inspector to find him.”
    Roger went out.
    Toby spoke softly to Druna: “Gillett’s the young man in the torn shirt, is he?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI knew

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