Enter a Murderer Read Online Free PDF Page A

played it otherwise, but Felix Gardener did. He made it sound horrible.
    The Beaver came downstage. His right hand now held a revolver. “
You’re not a killer, Rat,
” he said. “
I am. Put ’em up.
”
    Gardener’s hands went slowly above his head. Surbonadier patted him all over, still covering him with the gun. Then he backed away. He began to arraign Gardener. The intensity of his fury, repressed and controlled apparently by the most stringent effort, touched the audience like venom. The emotional contact between the players and the house was tightened to an almost unendurable tension. Nigel felt profoundly uncomfortable. It seemed to him that this was no fustian scene between the Rat and the Beaver, but a development of the antagonism of two men, indecently played out in public. “Carruthers, the Rat” was his friend Felix Gardener, and the “Beaver” was Arthur Surbonadier, who hated him. The whole business was beastly and he would have liked to look away from it, but for the life of him he couldn’t do so.
    “
Round every corner, Rat, you’ve waited for me,
” Surbonadier was saying now. “
Every job I’ve done this last year you’ve bitched for me, Rat — Rat. You’ve mucked round my girl.
” His voice rose hysterically. “
I’ve had enough. I’m through — I’ve come to finish it and, by God, I’ve come to finish you
!”
    “
Not this evening, Beaver. It’s a lovely little plan and I hate to spoil your party, but you see we’re not alone.
”
    “
What are you saying?
”
    “
We’re not alone.
” Gardener spoke with the exasperating facetiousness of the popular hero. “
There’s a good angel watching over you, Beaver. You’re covered, my Beaver.
”
    “
Do I look easy?
”
    “
You look lovely, my Beaver, but if you don’t believe me take a step to your right and glance in the mirror behind me, and I think you’ll see the image of the angel that’s watching you.
”
    Surbonadier moved upstage. His right hand still held the revolver levelled at Gardener, but for a second he shifted his gaze to the mirror above Gardener’s head. Then slowly he turned and stared at the upstage entrance. A moment, and Stephanie Vaughan stood in the doorway. She too held a revolver, pointed at Surbonadier.
    “
Jenny
!” whispered Surbonadier. He dropped his hand and the barrel of the gun shone blue. It hung limply from his fingers and as though in a dream he let Gardener take it from him.
    “
Thank you, Jennifer,
” said Gardener. Miss Vaughan, with a little laugh, lowered her gun.
    “
You don’t have any luck, do you, Beaver
?” she said.
    Surbonadier uttered a curious little whinnying sound, turned, and clawed at Gardener’s neck, forcing up his chin. Gardener’s hand jerked up. The report of the revolver, anticipated by every nerve in the audience, was deafeningly loud. Surbonadier crumpled up and, turning a face that was blank of every expression but that of profound astonishment, fell in a heap at Gardener’s feet. So far the acting honours in the scene had been even, but now Felix Gardener surpassed anything that had gone before. His face reflected, horribly, the surprise on Surbonadier’s. He stood looking foolishly at the gun in his hand and then let it fall to the floor. He turned, bewildered, and peering at the audience as though asking a question. He looked at the stage exits as if he meditated an escape. Then he gazed at Stephanie Vaughan, who, in her turn, was looking with horror from him to what he had done. When at last he spoke — and his lips moved once or twice before any words were heard — it was with the voice of an automaton. Miss Vaughan replied like an echo. They spoke as though they were talking machines. Gardener kept his gaze fixed on the revolver. Once he made as if he would pick it up, but drew his hand back as though it were untouchable.
    “God, that man can act!” said a voice behind Nigel. He woke up to feel Alleyn’s hand on his knee.
    “Is this the