Hardboiled Episode 2 - “A-Natural Death”
Cast
Jack Cassidy, PI
Effie Strembitsky
Sergeant McGregor
La Signora Bianca Carmasciano, an opera singer
Sidney “Slippery Sid” Smeester, a gangster
Harold “Horse-Face Harry” Hoffmann, a gangster
Alexander Entwhistle, the manager of the Strand Theatre in Edmonton
William Livingstone, the manager of the Palace Theatre in Calgary
Officer Jones, a cop
ANNOUNCER: Empress of Blandings Productions presents radio’s newest detective—Jack Cassidy, PI—and her thrilling adventures, in—HARDBOILED!
MFX: Opening theme
OFFICER JONES: I dunno, Sarge. This theatre is giving me the creeps.
SERGEANT McGREGOR: You buy this story about a ghost, eh, Jones?
JONES: Well—maybe not a ghost. But that don’t mean there ain’t something sneaking around in the dark. The call we got said they saw somebody crawling through the window, didn’t it?
McGREGOR: Pipe down a little, will ya?
JONES: Well, theatres are always a little spooky after the lights go out, dontcha think? I tell ya, I said to my wife when we heard about all this, I said—
McGREGOR: Jones! Do you see that?
JONES: What? Oh, jeepers! I told you there was somebody back here!
McGREGOR: Yeah, but given that he’s dangling by his neck, I’d say he ain’t been doing any creeping around for a good while.
SFX: Crash
JONES: Who’s back there?
McGREGOR: Police! Come out with your hands up!
JACK: All right, all right, sergeant, they’re up. You can put away the bean-shooters, boys, I promise not to plug you.
McGREGOR: Jack!
JONES: You know this dame, sarge?
McGREGOR: Unfortunately. Officer Jones, this is Jack Cassidy, P.I., a local flatfoot with a talent for getting in the way of things.
JACK: Charmed.
JONES: Are you workin’ on a case back here or somethin’?
JACK: Case? No sir. I was taking a pleasant stroll in the bowels of a supposedly haunted theatre at one o’ clock in the morning, just for the hell of it.
McGREGOR: Don’t crack wise, Jack. We found you back here standing practically on top of a stiff. I’d like to hear a bit of an explanation.
JACK: Sorry, Sarge, just trying to alleviate the tension with some pleasant banter. I don’t know too much more about who’s responsible for this than you do, but I’ll be glad to lay out what I do know. I am, as your colleague surmised, here on behalf of a client—a celebrity client, as a matter of fact. Ever heard of La Signora Bianca Carmasciano?
McGREGOR: Nope.
JACK: Widely regarded as Europe’s finest dramatic coloratura soprano? Dubbed “the finest Violetta this century has yet seen” by the New York Times’s opera critic? Created a sensation last November with her virtuosic performance as the Königin der Nacht at the Palais Garnier?
McGREGOR: You must know that doesn’t clear things up.
JONES: Hey, wait—Carmasciano. That’s the dame whose name was on the marquee outside.
JACK: Atta boy, officer, that’s using the little grey cells. Well, this morning my secretary received a call from La Signora herself. (MFX: Transition music up) She’s in town this week on a North American tour, and she found my name in the directory. Sopranos, as I understand it, aren’t known for their phlegmatic temperaments, but Signora Carmasciano was in quite a flap, even by soprano standards.
SFX: Ringing phone
EFFY: Jack Cassidy Detective Agency.
BIANCA: (filter) Hello! Yes, I have immediate and urgent need of a private detective. My very life is in peril!
EFFY: Gosh! Well, that sounds bad, doesn’t it? What seems to be the trouble?
BIANCA: (filter) I am being persecuted—sabotaged—hunted! Oh, it’s dreadful, dreadful! They haunt me by night—they torment me by day—
EFFY: And you think, uh, “they,” are trying to kill you?
BIANCA: (filter) At least to destroy my career—which is worse! Are you able to send the finest detective at your establishment to the Strand Theatre, prontissimo?
EFFY: Our—finest detective? Sure, we’ll send over the cream of the crop, right away. Can I get your name?
BIANCA: (filter) I am La Signora Bianca Carmasciano. No doubt you have heard of me.
EFFY: Uh—I’m not sure if I’ve had the pleasure—
BIANCA: (filter) La Signora Bianca Carmasciano? Widely regarded as Europe’s finest dramatic coloratura soprano? Dubbed “the finest Violetta this century has yet seen” by the New York Times’s opera critic? Created a sensation last November with my virtuosic performance as the Königin der Nacht at the Palais Garnier?
EFFY: Oh, that Bianca Carmasciano. O.K., the best woman we got is on her way. (SFX: Hang up.) Jack!
MFX: Transition
JACK: (narrating) I hurried down Jasper Avenue to the Strand Theatre, where I found two stagehands sweeping the front sidewalk. One of them was short and fat and shifty-looking, the other was tall and thin and shifty-looking, and, as far as I could tell, they were busily moving the dust in circles without making the slightest bit of difference to the dirtiness of the pavement.
JACK: Excuse me, gentlemen, do you know where I could find Bianca Carmasciano?
SID: Who wants to know?
HARRY: Yeah, who wants to know?
JACK: The name’s Jack Cassidy. She asked me to step over here.
SID: Jack Cassidy. You some kinda private dick or something?
HARRY: (aside) Don’t be stupid, Sid. You ain’t never seen a dick who was a doll before, have you?
SFX: Door opening
ALEXANDER: Ah! You must be the detective.
JACK: That’s me.
ALEX: How do you do? My name is Alexander Entwhistle; I am the manager of the Strand Theatre. Please, step inside.
SID: (aside) See, I told you. Times they are a-changing.
HARRY: (aside) Well, if that don’t beat all. What did she want to go and hire a dick for, eh?
SFX: Door closing
JACK: Those two goons out there belong to you?
ALEX: Hm? They work here, if that’s what you mean. New hires, I believe. They don’t seem to have very many virtues as stagehands, but I haven’t had a moment to worry about that sort of thing in all the chaos.
JACK: Chaos?
ALEX: (heavy sigh) I suppose Signora Carmasciano spoke with you?
JACK: Yeah. Said something about her life being in danger.
ALEX: (exasperated) Oh yes, I’m sure she did. That’s what she’s been saying to all the papers. You’ve heard of Bianca Carmasciano before now, I suppose?
JACK: The buzz is she’s widely regarded as Europe’s finest dramatic coloratura soprano.
ALEX: Quite right. We were very fortunate that she chose this theatre on her Canadian tour for two nights. She could have drawn crowds to a dozen other venues across the prairies—old William Livingstone, the manager of the Palace in Calgary, would’ve given his eye teeth to have her—but this is her only performance between Toronto and Vancouver. We are extremely lucky. (Wry) Indeed I find myself obliged, Miss Cassidy, to frequently remind myself of how very lucky we were. Sometimes it’s easy to forget.
JACK: So is her life in danger?
ALEX: Good heavens, no. That’s all nonsense. But she has convinced herself—
BIANCA: (Calling from off) Entwhistle!
ALEX: Oh dear.
BIANCA: Entwhistle! Another calamity! It seems that now—aha! The detective!
JACK: How d’you do, ma’am; the name’s Jack Cassidy. Can you tell me what exactly—
BIANCA: Oh, Miss Cassidy! How can I even begin to describe what I have suffered since I arrived in this town!
ALEX: Signora, as I keep telling you, we’ve made every effort to ensure—
BIANCA: I could never have imagined—never have believed it possible—when I agreed to perform here on my North American tour—that this seemingly charming little theatre would turn out to be….haunted!
JACK: …..I’m sorry, ma’am, did you say haunted?
ALEX: (weary) La Signora Carmasciano believes that the Strand theatre is infested with ghosts who are determined to sabotage her performance.
JACK: I…see.
BIANCA: Mr. Entwhistle has proven himself to be a skeptic. But I have seen things since I began rehearsing yesterday that can only be explained by the presence of malevolent spirits. Theatres, you know, are apt to draw such creatures. I have seen it many times in my career.
JACK: Sure. Any of ’em ever drop a chandelier on you?
BIANCA: (cold) I am able to pay you very well indeed, Miss Cassidy. If you would prefer to be ironical at my expense, you need not accept my money.
JACK: No, no, I’d be delighted to take it, Signora. Been years since I had a good ghost case. What’s been happening around here that makes you think you might have a ghost infestation?
BIANCA: Oh, any number of things. Strange clattering and moaning in the walls—furniture being thrown about—cracked mirrors—slamming doors—the disappearance of my accompanist—nothing I set down is where I leave it—and just now, I discovered the piano is slowly and supernaturally being silenced!
JACK: Hold on—did you say the disappearance of your accompanist? There’s a whole missing human being?
ALEX: Signora, just because Sam hasn’t turned up to rehearsal yet this morning doesn’t mean he was kidnapped by ghosts. I think it’s highly probable that he just overslept.
BIANCA: Never! He would never do such a thing to me! Oversleep, indeed—when he knows what such a disturbance in the routine of rehearsal would do to my nerves!
JACK: Well, what about everything else? Have you and your employees been hearing these strange noises?
ALEX: (grudging) Well, yes, I’ll admit there’ve been some odd creaks and things. Most likely just the wind.
BIANCA: And the broken mirror?
ALEX: A clumsy janitor, perhaps.
BIANCA: And the furniture in my dressing room being tossed every which way? And the moaning, and the screaming!—you think all of that is the wind, you absurd little man?
JACK: You say you just found something wrong with your piano, too?
BIANCA: Come here! Let me show you!
SFX: Piano scale— C, D, E, F, G, (click), B, C
BIANCA: You see!
ALEX: I’m afraid I’d hardly call one missing note evidence of demonic handiwork.
BIANCA: It is another straw on the back of the camel! Yet another disaster calculated to ruin my performance! I ask you, detective, have you ever heard “Der Holle Rache” accompanied by a piano without an A?
JACK: Um…
ALEX: Signora, I promise, we’ll have the piano fixed by tomorrow night. There’s nothing whatever for you to worry about.
BIANCA: I don’t know, Mr. Entwhistle. Perhaps it would be best to cancel the performance.
ALEX: (a slight note of panic) Signora, please, you can’t do that.
BIANCA: I most certainly can! I did not expect to face such catastrophes here. Perhaps, after all, I would have been better off in Calgary.
JACK: Oh, now, never say that.
BIANCA: I know Mr. Livingstone was dreadfully disappointed when I refused his kind offer. Well, of course everyone says Calgary is a city devoid of artistic sensibility. And Edmonton, of course I knew, was likewise a cultural wasteland—
ALEX: Signora—
BIANCA: But I had heard that you were trying! Trying to create art, to become something greater than just a…a mere pimple on the face of the prairies. And now I find that not only are your managers immune to understanding of the delicate needs of the great artists, but your theatres are full of malicious spirits who stalk its halls at night?
JACK: You ever seen one of these spirits?
BIANCA: Of course not. They only come out at night, to smash my mirrors and leave my effects in disarray.
JACK: Suppose I spend the night here, patrolling the place? Maybe I can catch whatever’s haunting this place in the act, and convince ’em to leave you alone in time for your performance tonight.
BIANCA: Oh, could you? Would you really?
JACK: Of course. Er, I’ll need my fee in advance, though. New policy.
BIANCA: Of course, of course. Let me get my chequebook.
SFX: Footsteps walking away. Alex blows out his breath.
ALEX: This building’s barely twenty years old. Who the devil does she think would be haunting it?
JACK: In all seriousness, Mr. Entwhistle, is it possible something human is trying to sabotage her?
ALEX: I think it’s unlikely in the extreme.
JACK: You said you had heard strange noises, didn’t you? And furniture’s been rearranged, and someone smashed her mirror?
ALEX: My dear girl, there’s a dozen plausible explanations for all that. None of which includes a nefarious plot to undermine her performance, and certainly not ghosts. Don’t you believe she’s suffering as a result of any of this. She’s exulting in every moment of it. She gave elaborate interviews to the Journal and the Bulletin this morning, detailing all the evidence that my theatre is overrun by ghosts.
JACK: Seems to me that might not be such a bad thing for ticket sales.
ALEX: Unless she cancels the performances, and obliges me to refund 3200 disgruntled opera lovers.
JACK: What about this accompanist?
ALEX: Sam? He was supposed to show up here at nine this morning, but it’s only noon. The Signora herself didn’t deign to appear here until ten-thirty. I don’t see anything especially suspicious in a musician sleeping through a morning rehearsal. Anyway, she was in a towering temper with him yesterday—they had a raging fight over some wrong chord he’d supposedly played, and they ended the rehearsal screaming at each other. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s home sulking.
JACK: And you can’t think of anyone who might have a grudge against her?
ALEX: You met the woman, Miss Cassidy. Everyone who’s worked with her so far could cheerfully throttle her. But hatching an elaborate plot to make the theatre seem haunted? No. Surely not.
JACK: Well, I’ll check things out tonight. Even if I just need to scold a janitor for breaking mirrors, that’ll be something, eh?
MFX: Transition
JACK: (narrating) I returned to the theatre that night—earlier this evening, I should say, Sarge— armed with a gun, a flashlight, and a baloney sandwich and a thermos of coffee my secretary insisted I take with me. Mr. Entwhistle greeted me at the door, passed off the keys, and wished me luck. But for the first few hours, it didn’t seem like I needed it. The Strand was dark and silent, and as I walked through the hallways I didn’t see any evidence of ghost, ghoul, or goblin, malicious or otherwise. Then, at about one o’ clock in the morning, I was sitting in the auditorium in the dark, nibbling my baloney, when I heard a voice cry out from behind the curtain.
HARRY: Holy smokes!
JACK: Another voice immediately shushed it.
SID: Shut up, you dip!
HARRY: But Sid, just look!
SID: I see it! But if you don’t shut your trap, the cops’ll be here in a minute to look at it along with us!
JACK: After that, they unhelpfully dropped their voices to whispers, so I crept closer and crouched in the shadow of the stage to listen.
HARRY: I don’t know about this, Sid. I really don’t know about this.
SID: Just don’t blow your wig over it, O.K., Harry?
HARRY: This ain’t good, Sid!
SID: I know it ain’t good! But there’s no sense it getting all worked up about it!
HARRY: We was just supposed to scare the dame a little, that’s all. I didn’t sign on for nobody getting scragged!
SID: Hey, you think I’m happy about this? You think I was keen on finding a stiff dangling from the ceiling? (dropping his voice even further) You know how I am about blood, Harry.
HARRY: There ain’t any blood.
SID: Sure, but once people start getting scragged, we’re that much more likely to find ourselves in a situation where there is blood, aren’t we?
HARRY: Do we know for sure somebody came and dusted him off? I mean, he coulda done it to himself, couldn’t he?
SID: Maybe. Working for a dame like that might make anyone want to give himself a permanent necktie.
HARRY: Give himself a what?
SID: I meant top himself, Harry, and I think you coulda figured that one out from context.
HARRY: Jeepers, Sid, you don’t think we drove him to it?
SID: What, you mean because he was so scared? Nah. Only that dizzy canary bird believed we was real ghosts anyway.
HARRY: Well, if she wasn’t spooked before, she sure will be now. Now what do we do? Blow the joint and not come back?
SID: Nah, that’d only make us look suspicious. I say we show up to work tomorrow like nothing’s wrong, and act real shocked when we find out what happened.
HARRY: And then maybe we quit?
SID: Yeah. After that we scram. I don’t wanna stick around and see this get any uglier. C’mon, let’s go.
HARRY: Through the back window again?
SID: Of course. Now everybody’s talking about this place being haunted, we can’t be seen waltzing through the front doors, now, can we?
SFX: Footsteps fading
JACK: I crept over to where Harry and Sid had been standing and looked up. What I should’ve seen was the weights that counterbalance the curtain. What I saw instead was a pair of feet, dangling above me in the dark. I carefully went over to raise the curtain, and—slowly—down came the feet. Attached to them, as you might have guessed, Sarge, was a body. And that more or less brings me up to where you stumbled in.
JONES: Should I go see if I can catch up with those two thugs, sir?
McGREGOR: No, they said they’d be back tomorrow, didn’t they? Anyways, I know where to find em if they don’t turn up.
JONES: You do?
McGREGOR: Sure. You said Sid and Harry, right, Jack?
JACK: You know em?
McGREGOR: They’re more generally known as Slippery Sid and Horse-Face Harry. Yeah, I’ve stumbled across a few rackets they’ve run in the past. They’re small-time operators, and they’re not very good at it.
JACK: I guess they found ghosting is more fun than grifting.
McGREGOR: Apparently, but they’re not very good at that either. We got a call from a civilian who saw them creepin’ in through the back window and thought it seemed suspicious—that’s why we came down here. What about the body, Jack? Who is it? Who was it, I should say?
JACK: Never had the pleasure of his acquaintance. But if I had to guess, I’d say this here would be Sam—La Signora’s late accompanist. Well, I say late. She told me this morning that he’s usually very punctual—goes to bed at nine every night and gets to rehearsal before anyone else the next morning. That’s why she thought it was so strange that they never heard from him all day long.
McGREGOR: So you think he showed up this morning, bright and early, while the theatre was still empty, and—
JACK: Got himself strangled? Yep. You know what they say, Sarge—early to rise and early to bed makes a man healthy and wealthy and dead.
JONES: Hang on. How do you know he was murdered?
JACK: Take a closer look at the neck, officer. Somebody strangled him from behind, then tied him up to the rope so the body would lower the next time they raised the curtain. They would’ve found it earlier today, but Carmasciano refused to do any rehearsing—she took the day off to soothe her nerves.
McGREGOR: Christ, she’s right. He was garrotted—with some kind of metal cord, or a…
JACK: Piano wire. Middle A, to be exact.
Ad break
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JACK: I returned to my office in the wee hours of the morning, where Effy found me sitting at my desk, smoking and thinking things over, when she arrived at nine. I related to her the events of the evening.
EFFY: Then what happened?
JACK: We called in the meat wagon to cart off poor Sam the accompanist, and I rang up Entwhistle to tell him what happened. I told him I’d meet him at the theatre to help break the news to Carmasciano around eleven this morning.
EFFY: Gee, strangled with a piano wire. That’s a new one, huh?
JACK: I’d say.
EFFY: Don’t suppose I could convince you to go home and take a nap between now and eleven.
JACK: Eh?
EFFY: Well, I assume you’ve been sitting here swilling stale coffee since you got back from the theatre. You must be exhausted.
JACK: You’re an angel to think of it, but there’s nothing more un-private eye than taking a wee nap. Clients only take me seriously when I have dark circles under my eyes.
EFFY: Well, what did your private eye brain come up with as it stewed here at five am?
JACK: My private eye brain is still formulating theories. I’d like to talk to Slippery Sid and Horse-Face Harry before I come to any solid conclusions. And to La Signora as well.
EFFY: It’s certain that those two gangsters didn’t do it?
JACK: Well, they certainly seem to have been responsible for the haunting. But apparently not the corpse.
EFFY: What about the opera singer? Didn’t you say she fought with her accompanist the day before?
JACK: Yes, she did. Entwhistle told me more about it this morning—said La Signora was screaming threats and abuse at Sam for throwing off her cadenza, or something. Apparently she told him he would live to regret the day he plotted at her humiliation.
EFFY: Well, there’s your suspect.
JACK: She’s certainly tempestuous. But garrotting a man in cold blood for playing a wrong note in a rehearsal?
EFFY: Music people take music very seriously. Anyway, who else could it have been?
JACK: If it had just been a shooting or something, I’d say maybe Sam had gotten into trouble with some unsavoury characters since arriving in town. But hanging him from the curtain in a supposedly haunted theatre seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?
EFFY: How many tickets d’you think it’ll sell?
JACK: Come again?
EFFY: Well, the Strand’s been struggling to fill seats for a few years now, what with the economy and everything. And this murder is already in all the morning papers.
JACK: You think that’s what’ll pull the Strand out of a slump? “Come to the theatre where a man was hanged”?
EFFY: Publicity is publicity, Jacqueline.
JACK: Don’t call me Jacqueline. La Signora’s performances were sold out already.
EFFY: But what about whoever performs there next? And whoever performs there after that? And they show movies, too. I bet all kinds of people would want to go see The Brainsnatcher or The Walking Dead—you know, that new Karloff flick—in a theatre where somebody was actually murdered.
JACK: You could be right.
EFFY: Of course I’m right. When Jimmy and I saw Camille at the Strand it was barely half-full.
JACK: Jimmy? Oh, yes, the boyfriend. (coughs) How was your evening with him? I forgot to ask.
EFFY: It was O.K., I guess. Jimmy said afterwards he thinks Garbo is overrated. Did you ever hear of such a thing?
JACK: Garbo, overrated?
EFFY: I know! I don’t know if I’ll let him take me out again after that.
JACK: Shame. (beat) Well, I think I’ll hop out and get some breakfast at the Silk Hat before I head over to the Strand. If Entwhistle or Carmasciano call, tell them I’m on my way, would you?
EFFY: Sure. Hey, Jack?
JACK: Yeah?
EFFY: Do most private detectives discuss their cases with their secretaries? I mean, earlier you were complaining about me putting my oar in.
JACK: Well, you cracked the case on your own last week. With a little more practice in this business maybe you can learn not to announce as much to the murderer while you’re alone with him and he has a gun.
EFFY: Don’t be silly, Jack, I’m going to keep antagonizing murderers all I want. I know perfectly well you’ll always come bursting in to rescue me.
JACK: Of course I will. (beat. Clears throat.) Well, see ya.
MFX: Transition
JACK: (narrating) I was supposed to be there to break the news to La Signora. But judging by the sound of the conversation coming from behind Entwhistle’s office door when I arrived, that milk had already been spilt.
BIANCA: (shrieking, muffled) An outrage! A horror! A catastrophe! Ghosts—sabotage—now murder!
ALEX: (muffled) Signora, please, I know it’s upsetting, but—
BIANCA: (muffled) Upsetting? Upsetting! It’s a calamity! My performance is ruined. Ruined!
SFX: Knock knock knock
ALEX: (muffled) Yes? Who is it?
JACK: It’s me, Mr. Entwhistle, Cassidy.
ALEX: (muffled) Oh, yes, yes. Come in, come in.
SFX: Door opening
BIANCA: You!—it was you who found him?
JACK: Yes, ma’am, it was.
BIANCA: You never met him, did you?
JACK: Not in life, no.
BIANCA: Well, if you had, you’d know it’s just the sort of thing he would do—get himself murdered immediately before a performance!
JACK: I really don’t know how to respond to that.
LIVINGSTONE: Signora Carmasciano, is this a friend of yours?
BIANCA: Oh, yes, I beg your pardon, Mr. Livingstone. This is, uh, Jane Cassidy, the private detective I hired when all this began.
JACK: It’s Jack—
BIANCA: Miss Cassidy, this is Mr. William Livingstone. He happened to be in Edmonton, and was kind enough to step up to the Strand to offer his condolences when he heard of the tragedy.
JACK: How do you do, Mr. Livingstone? Are you—uh—?
ALEX: (gritted teeth) Mr. Livingstone is the manager of the Palace Theatre in Calgary. He has come to offer to be helpful in any way he can.
WILL: I do not, of course, wish to intrude on the aftermath of such a tragic event. But if my proposition is at all amenable to you, Signora…
BIANCA: I must say it is an extremely tempting proposal. Mr. Livingstone. I could not possibly perform here at the Strand, after what has occurred.
ALEX: (slightly panicky) Signora, I must urge you in the strongest possible terms to reconsider. Think of all the Edmontonians you’ll be disappointing!
BIANCA: Enough, Mr. Entwhistle. It is quite impossible. Had I accepted Mr. Livingstone’s very generous offer in the first place, none of this would have happened. As it is, I can only belatedly attempt to rectify my mistake.
JACK: What mistake is that?
BIANCA: I believe I told you yesterday that I originally turned down the offer to perform in Calgary, at the Palace Theatre, instead. Mr. Livingstone, having heard of the haunting taking place here at the Strand, motored up yesterday to see if he could persuade me to return with him and perform at his establishment instead. Initially I turned him down—but after what took place last night—
ALEX: Signora, please. Since the story in the newspaper this morning, the box office has been flooded with calls from patrons concerned about your well-being and eager to see if any tickets were still available.We could extend your run! Introduce a standing room! You can’t possibly abandon us now!
BIANCA: I can and I will, Mr. Entwhistle. I don’t suppose you’ve taken a close look at the terms of my contract recently?
ALEX: (grim) I suppose it allows you to withdraw without any penalties, but please, if you’ll just consider—
BIANCA: Consider, forsooth! In light of recent events, and the clear impossibility of performing at your house of horrors, I will require the payment of my fee in full.
ALEX: What! But Signora—
BIANCA: In full, Entwhistle, or you will be hearing from my lawyers! Good day to you!
SFX: footsteps retreating
WILL: Well, I’m dreadfully sorry about this, old man. All the same—what do you expect if you run your theatre along such lines? (chuckling) Better luck next time you try to latch on to some star power, eh?
SFX: Door closing.
JACK: I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use the word “forsooth” in a sentence before.
ALEX: It’s all very well for you, Miss Cassidy. You haven’t just lost a cool fifteen thousand dollars.
JACK: Surely not that much?
ALEX: Once I’ve refunded two nights of a sold-out house, and paid the Signora her exorbitant fee, yes, at least that much. Oooh, that Livingstone must be loving this.
JACK: Old rival?
ALEX: Ever since he opened he’s been trying to prove Calgary is the culturally superior city. We’ve always hated each other. He was apoplectic when he failed to secure the Signora, and now he’s got her, and I might very well be ruined in the process. Oh, this is awful. I must be just about the unluckiest person in Edmonton.
JACK: Well, barring the man who was strangled and hanged from a curtain.
ALEX: Nonsense. His troubles were over and done with in thirty seconds. And that Signora, she’s all right—she’s successfully doubled her profits and trebled her publicity. No, I’m the one who’s really suffering here, Miss Cassidy. I wish you’d never found that damned body.
JACK: Come again?
ALEX: If you hadn’t seen him hanging there, he might never have been found! The Signora would have paid me to provide a new accompanist, and her performance would have continued as scheduled!
JACK: Uh…
ALEX: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m upset. I’m not thinking clearly.
JACK: Mr. Entwhistle, this is for the best. If I hadn’t found the body, it would have appeared in front of the audience when the curtain rose at the performance and you’d have had to refund everybody and cancel the performance anyway. And surely that would have…
(beat)
ALEX: Miss Cassidy? You look as though you’ve just realized something.
JACK: I—
SFX: Knock knock knock
SID: Scuse me, Mr. Entwhistle? Uh, we was told to come straight up to your office when we got in this morning.
HARRY: We was awful upset to hear about the murder, Mr. Entwhistle. It came as a real shock to us.
SID: Yeah, we was real shocked.
HARRY: It sure took us by surprise.
SID: A real whammy.
HARRY: Yeah, a turn-up for the books.
ALEX: (slightly menacing) You boys just wait right here, won’t you? I have to make a quick phone call to someone who’d like to speak with you.
JACK: Mr. Entwhistle, would you mind if I had a brief chat with these gentlemen while you call our friend McGregor?
ALEX: Certainly. Have all the chats you’d like.
SFX: Door closing
HARRY: That McGregor wouldn’t be…Sergeant McGregor, would it?
JACK: (innocently) Do you know the sarge?
SID: No.
HARRY: Not what you’d call knowing, exactly.
SID: Maybe we mighta bumped into him
HARRY: Here or there.
SID: You know the way you do bump into people.
HARRY: At cocktail parties and things.
JACK: Look, boys, suppose you simplify matters by giving me the name of your boss as quickly as possible.
SID: Boss?
HARRY: Mr. Entwhistle is our boss.
SID: Yeah, we work here at the Strand.
HARRY: We’re stagehands.
SID: We sweep. And, you know…dust
JACK: And pretend to be ghosts, too? Does Mr. Entwhistle pay you for that?
HARRY: O.K., look, lady. Maybe we did do a little moaning in the walls and things, here and there. Just as a harmless prank, you know. But we don’t know nothing about the body!
SID: Yeah, we didn’t kill nobody!
JACK: Oh, I know you didn’t. Your thing about blood.
SID: My thing—? Dammit, Harry! I told you I heard something sneakin’ around the auditorium last night!
HARRY: Oh, you, you’re always hearin’ something!
JACK: Who paid you to do that moaning in the walls?
SID: We don’t know.
JACK: Work with me, boys. McGregor will be here any minute.
HARRY: Honest, we don’t know! We never met him, and he never told us his name!
JACK: But it was a him?
HARRY: Yeah. Sounded like a him, anyway.
JACK: You spoke to him?
SID: Over the phone. We’d call him and tell him about the hauntings we did that day, and then he’d wire us the money.
JACK: Well, did you give the operator a name?
HARRY: Nah—we used a dial phone. He told us to always call his number directly.
JACK: What’s the number?
HARRY: I don’t remember. Do you, Sid?
SID: Dunno that I do. We have it written down, somewhere.
JACK: What did he say the last time you spoke with him?
SID: He was kind of annoyed, wasn’t he, Harry?
HARRY: Yeah. When we called him day before yesterday he said we obviously wasn’t very convincing as ghosts.
SID: And we said yes we was! We’ve been spooking the living daylights out of that dame!
HARRY: Yeah! Sometimes we’d would groan so loud we’d scare each other even. Ain’t that right, Sid?
SID: Yeah, and when we slammed all those doors?
HARRY: And the broken mirror? She never saw that coming!
JACK: But he didn’t think it was enough?
SID: Nope. That’s what he told us.
HARRY: Yeah, and then he said—what was it he said?
SID: He said not to call him for a few days, because he wouldn’t be available.
HARRY: And then he said something about taking matters into his own hands.
SID: Yeah, that was it.
SFX: Door opening
BIANCA: Excuse me…Oh! Detective.
JACK: Signora! And Mr. Livingstone! Nice to see you again. Entwhistle will be glad to see you’re interested in renegotiating.
BIANCA: I am not interested in any such thing. Mr. Livingstone and I have been standing on the street trying to flag a taxi to take us to his hotel, where we can discuss terms. But apparently it is impossible to do anything so metropolitan as flag a taxi in this godforsaken town. We have returned to make use of a telephone.
JACK: Of course, of course. Before you do that, Signora, d’you mind if I ask you one quick question?
BIANCA: I suppose.
JACK: You said you’d been in touch with Mr Livingstone before all this happened, right?
BIANCA: Yes. He was very upset when I refused his generous offer, and he gave me his personal number to reach him if I ever changed my mind.
WILL: I really don’t see what this has to do with anything, miss. If you’ll excuse us, the Signora and I are in a bit of a hurry—
JACK: Sure, sure. A personal number, eh? Quite a luxury. Not everyone has one.
BIANCA: He is an important man in charge of an important institution, Miss Cassidy. I’m sure he finds it very useful in his business dealings.
JACK: Oh, I’m sure he does. Signora, you wouldn’t happen to remember the number he gave you offhand, would you?
WILL: I’m sure that’s not necess—
BIANCA: His telephone number? I believe it was M-7280.
HARRY: (SFX: slapping hand on the desk) That’s it! M-7280, that’s the number for the man who hired us!
(Pause)
HARRY: Hey, wait a minute—
WILL: You! You—imbeciles—
SID: Hey, whoa, take it easy!
WILL: You bungled it! Everything was going perfectly! Oh, they found the body a little early, but it would have worked out—and then you—have to open your fat mouths—
BIANCA: Mr. Livingstone!
SFX: Door opening
ALEX: All right, here they are, Sergeant—what’s going on?
JACK: Sergeant, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. William Livingstone: theatre magnate, opera fan, and—murderer.
BIANCA gives a shriek of horror.
ALEX: What!—Livingstone! You can’t be serious!
JACK: His theatre was struggling in the economic climate, just like yours, Mr. Entwhistle. La Signora was the star who could have saved it. And when you got her instead—
McGREGOR: He turned to murder?
JACK: Well, first ghosts, and then murder.
BIANCA: Of course! Of course! I mistrusted you from the first, Mr. Livingstone. How could you have imagined you’d get away with such a thing?
WILL: I would have gotten away with it, you crackbrained coloratura! I damn near did—if I hadn’t been such an idiot as to depend on the help of two—two—
JACK: Imbeciles?
McGREGOR: Gangsters?
WILL: Edmontonians!
MFX: Transition, fading into…
BIANCA: (singing) Come scoglio immoto resta / Contra i venti, e la tempesta, / Così ognor quest'alma è forte / Nella fede, e nell’amor…
EFFY: (in an undertone, but heard over the sound of music as it fades into the background) She’s pretty good, isn’t she?
JACK: If you like that sort of thing.
EFFY: You don’t?
JACK: Well, maybe it’ll grow on me. Have you got the program? What’s this one called?
EFFY: Ah, yes, here… (rummaging) This one’s from something called, uh, “Così fan tutte.”
JACK: Any idea what it means?
EFFY: Um—“They’re All Like That”, I think.
JACK: Yes, I know, but what does it mean?
ALEX: Good evening, ladies. Enjoying the performance?
EFFY: Oh, yes, Mr. Entwhistle!
JACK: Yes, very much. Thank you again for offering me these seats.
ALEX: Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do, after you saved my performance and got my main rival arrested for murder.
JACK: Well, he got himself arrested for murder. By committing murder.
ALEX: A technicality, my dear girl. If you’d like any tickets in the future for films—vaudeville—live recordings of radio—you just let me know, won’t you?
JACK: Well, thank you very much, Mr. Entwhistle.
ALEX: Not at all, not at all. Well—do enjoy the show!
EFFY: Thank you! (pause) Payment in full from the Signora, and free movie tickets from Entwhistle! Try to get more clients who don’t turn out to be murderers, won’t you?
JACK: I’ll do my best. And, say, Eff—if you ever want to avail yourself of that offer—to come see a movie with Jimmy or something—
EFFY: Oh, I don’t think I will. Not with Jimmy, anyway. Maybe with Albert.
JACK: Albert?
EFFY: He’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow night. He seems very nice.
JACK: Oh. Well, yes, let me know if I can get tickets for you and…Albert.
BIANCA: (singing) ….potrà la morte sola / Far che cangi affetto il cor.