Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 6: Opening Night, Spinsters in Jeopardy, Scales of Justice
Commemorating 75 years since the Empress of Crime’s first book, the sixth volume in a set of omnibus editions presenting the complete run of 32 Inspector Alleyn mysteries.OPENING NIGHTDreams of stardom lured Martyn Tarne from faraway New Zealand to a soul-destroying round of West End agents and managers in search of work. Now, driven by sheer necessity, she accepts the humble job of dresser to the Vulcan Theatre's leading lady. But the eagerly awaited opening night brings a strange turn of the wheel of fortune – and sudden unforeseen death…SPINSTERS IN JEOPARDYHigh in the mountains stands an historic Saracen fortress, home of the mysterious Mr Oberon, leader of a coven of witches. Roderick Alleyn, on holiday with his family, suspects that a huge drugs ring operates from within the castle. When someone else stumbles upon the secret, Mr Oberon decides his strange rituals require a human sacrifice…SCALES OF JUSTICEThe inhabitants of Swevenings are stirred only by a fierce competition to catch a monster trout known to dwell in their beautiful stream. Then one of their small community is found brutally murdered; beside him is the freshly killed trout. Chief Detective Inspector Roderick Alleyn's murder investigation seems to be much more interested in the fish…
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NGAIO MARSH
Ngaio Marsh Volume 6
These novels are entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Opening Night first published in Great Britain by Collins 1951 Spinsters in Jeopardy first published in Great Britain by Collins 1953 Scales of Justice first published in Great Britain by Collins 1955 The Hand in the Sand in Death on the Air and Other Stories published by HarperCollinsPublishers 1995
Ngaio Marsh asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of these works
Copyright © Ngaio Marsh Ltd 1951, 1953, 1955
The Hand in the Sand copyright © Ngaio Marsh (Jersey) Ltd 1989 Cover design © crushed.co.uk
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
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Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007531400
Version: 2018-02-16
To The Management and Company of The New Zealand Student Players of 1949 in love and gratitude
CONTENTS
| OF THE VULCAN THEATRE | |
| Martyn Tarne | |
| Bob Grantley | Business Manager |
| Fred Badger | Night Watchman |
| Clem Smith | Stage Director |
| Bob Cringle | Dresser to Adam Poole |
| Adam Poole | Actor-manager |
| Helena Hamilton | Leading Lady |
| Clark Bennington | Her husband |
| Gay Gainsford | His niece |
| J. G. Darcey | Character actor |
| Parry Percival | Juvenile |
| Jacques Doré | Designer and assistant to Adam Poole |
| Dr John James Rutherford | Playwright |
| OF THE CID NEW SCOTLAND YARD | |
| Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn | |
| Detective-Inspector Fox | |
| Detective-Sergeant Gibson | |
| Detective-Sergeant Bailey | Fingerprint expert |
| Detective-Sergeant Thompson | Photographer |
| PC Lord Michael Lamprey | |
| Dr Curtis |
As she turned into Carpet Street the girl wondered at her own obstinacy. To what a pass it had brought her, she thought. She lifted first one foot and then the other, determined not to drag them. They felt now as if their texture had changed: their bones, it seemed, were covered by sponge and burning wires.
A clock in a jeweller’s window gave the time as twenty-three minutes to five. She knew, by the consequential scurry of its second hand, that it was alive. It was surrounded by other clocks that made mad dead statements of divergent times as if, she thought, to set before her the stages of that day’s fruitless pilgrimage. Nine o’clock, the first agent. Nine thirty-six, the beginning of the wait for auditions at the Unicorn; five minutes past twelve, the first dismissal. ‘Thank you, Miss–ah–Thank you, dear. Leave your name and address. Next, please.’ No record of her flight from the smell of restaurants but it must have been about ten-to-two, a time registered by a gilt carriage-clock in the corner, that she had climbed the stairs to Garnet Marks’ Agency on the third floor. Three o’clock exactly at the Achilles where the auditions had already closed, and the next hour in and out of film agencies. ‘Leave your picture if you like, dear. Let you know if there’s anything.’ Always the same. As punctual as time itself. The clocks receded, wobbled, enlarged themselves and at the same time spread before their dials a tenuous veil. Beneath the arm of a bronze nude that brandished an active swinging dial, she caught sight of a face: her own. She groped in her bag and presently in front of the mirrored face, a hand appeared and made a gesture at its own mouth with the stub of a lipstick. There was a coolness on her forehead, something pressed heavily against it. She discovered that this was the shop-window.
