Free Constable & Toop by Gareth P. Jones Page B

splendour and elegance of the high-ceilinged theatre itself, with row upon row of expectant people, chatting amongst themselves as they waited for the curtain to rise. In the centre, hanging from the ceiling, a gas chandelier gave the whole place a gentle glow that felt almost magical to Lapsewood.
    â€˜There’s our fella, now,’ said Tanner.
    At first Lapsewood didn’t see who he was talking about, but then he noticed the man. He wore clothes more suited to a gentleman living some hundred years earlier, with a rather fussy shirt, yellow tights, a grey coat and, on top of his head, a three-cornered hat. He was sharing his seat with a large fidgety lady.
    Seeing them approach, the Man in Grey stood up.
    â€˜Greetings,’ he said, raising his hat and bowing flamboyantly. ‘Please have a seat, my friends. You’re in for a treat tonight.
The Tragedy of Hamlet
, by our greatest playwright, Mr William Shakespeare. I have seen many performances over the years, but the talk of the theatre is that tonight’s lead is something very special indeed.’
    Tanner rolled his eyes but Lapsewood pulled out his list and a pen from his top pocket. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. I’m here from the Housing Department. I’m looking for Doris McNally.’
    â€˜Ah, dear Doris, a charming lady. She prefers the comedies, you know,’ replied the Man in Grey. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen her in some time.’
    â€˜Can I take your details?’ asked Lapsewood. ‘For my records.’
    â€˜Of course. Mr David Kerby. Born into life, 1771, born into death 1806. Known to the living as the Man in Grey, a title which, as you can see, fails to take into account the daring colour of my legwear, but one which I have grown accustomed to over the years.’
    â€˜The living can see you?’
    â€˜Occasionally. I have a licence for infrequent visibility, up to sixty per cent on the opacity scale, in accordance with the rulings on the haunting of public places.’
    â€˜What’s that mean?’ asked Tanner.
    â€˜It means he’s good for the tourist trade,’ replied Lapsewood.
    â€˜Ah yes, they flock here, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost of the man murdered in the foundations of this very building,’ said Mr Kerby dramatically. ‘The theatre itself has burnt down and been rebuilt since then, of course, but as my life was taken down in the foundations, this glorious theatre has remained my home.’
    â€˜You were murdered?’ said Lapsewood.
    Mr Kerby laughed and nodded, then pulled out a dagger and held it aloft. ‘By this very dagger,’ he said grandly. ‘Stabbed in the gut and left to die beneath the stage then bricked up in these walls. A death of such drama is in keeping with our dramatic surrounds, wouldn’t you say?’
    â€˜I’m guessing you were an actor yourself with the way you talk and all,’ said Tanner.
    â€˜An actor?’ Mr Kerby chuckled. ‘No, young man. In life I was a book keeper.’
    â€˜What were you killed for, then?’ asked Tanner.
    â€˜Ah, well,’ Mr Kerby emitted a small, embarrassed cough. ‘My fault entirely. You see, the management at the time had some pecuniary complications.’
    Tanner looked to Lapsewood, who translated, ‘Money problems.’
    â€˜Why didn’t he just say that then?’ asked Tanner.
    â€˜I noticed discrepancies in the books and brought it to light. I went to the then manager who saw to it that I didn’t bring it to any more light. Now, hush please, the play is about to start.’
    The lights on the great chandelier dimmed and Mr Kerby turned to the stage. ‘Do you know the play?’ he asked. ‘It begins with the appearance of a ghost. I’ve been watching rehearsals and they’ve done it rather well in this production. Not too much moaning and wailing. I don’t know why they always have us ghosts