Backstage was colder than the house, thick with the smell of glue and paint. The coat was still dripping, and the water carried the black mud of the docks. Holmes pinched the collar. "Less than an hour. Whoever wore this has just come from the river." The boy was gone. Only the iron ladder to the fly gallery was still swaying.
Every rope in the gallery was tied with the same knot. From the last cleat hung a small tin box, and the light key fitted its lock exactly. Inside was a page from a prompt book. In Act Two, one line was ringed in pencil. Holmes handed the page to Watson. "A playwright does not need a seat. He only needs to know whose mouth his lines will come from."
The bell rang for the second act. Watson looked down over the rail. A woman in costume walked into the light. It was the woman from the bridge. She did not look at the actor opposite her, only at the empty seat below, and spoke the ringed line: "At eleven tonight, the river will bring the answer back."
❦ To be continued.
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