The Seal on the Draft

Reginald's throat worked; the bergamot could not smile. "Who paid?" He stared at the blank on the proof. "You have caught the errand boy. The money for Scene Five was a draft on Crane & Co.—signed E.C."

In the wings Mrs Crane's hand shook; the half-ticket nearly fell. "That is Edmund's monogram… He locked the ledgers in the safe before he left." Watson heard her voice tighten: if the husband himself had bought this false death, the whole play turned inside out.

Holmes turned the sheet. Beside the ink a firm seal was pressed, the wax too fresh. "The seal is genuine," he said mildly, "but the wax was stamped tonight—the living man may still hold the die. Reginald, you only prompt; the true playwright is somewhere in London, waiting for dawn to fill the dead man's line."

❦ To be continued.