The Motion of Puppets(8)

“But where did Kay go? She never came back to the apartment.”

Biting her bottom lip, Sarant looked anxious to make her escape. “Look—Theo, is it? I don’t know what happened to your wife. Those of us who don’t live in the Basse-Ville called for a cab, and while we were waiting for it to arrive, she said she wanted to walk home. So she did.”

“Nobody saw her home?”

“She’s a big girl and said it wasn’t far.”

“All by herself?”

“At first, yes, but then Reance seemed worried about her walking alone in the middle of the night, so he took off after her. To catch her.”

Popping between them, Egon rubbed his hands together. “So, your mystery is solved, monsieur, a tale old as the Neanderthal dragging a girl by the hair—”

The spring uncoiled and Sarant slapped him lightly on the crown of his head. “Va chier. Pay no attention to the little man, Theo. He is osti d’épais and knows nothing. None of us knows anything at all. I’m sure this will all be made clear when they show up. A logical explanation.”

Before she could step away, she felt Theo’s hand grasp her arm. “But you don’t suspect,” he asked, “you have no reason to believe that there was anything between them?”

With the slightest twist of her wrist, Sarant freed herself. A wry smile creased her face, as if she was remembering some long-ago tryst. “In the history of men and women, anything is possible, as you are surely aware. But, that said, I don’t remember your wife slobbering over Reance, if that’s what you mean. Although he is a notorious roué and a sweet-talking man, and she was well in her cups. Maybe she just slept it off and has been nursing a hangover all day. You’ll have to ask him. Or better yet, her.” A fellow acrobat appeared at her side and rescued her, and they walked off, whispering and giggling, like two middle school gossips.

Egon pulled at Theo’s shirtsleeve. An unlit cheroot hung from his lip. “Come, let us ambush the swain.”

On the street in front of the warehouse with the smokers, they watched the others arrive from all directions. Puffing away on his little cigar, Egon nodded to the actors and crew while Theo scanned the faces in the crowd. They bore a playfulness and light, each and every one, as if painted by a single hand. Theo waited for Kay to show up and pour out her explanations, but he did not care where she had been. He just wanted to see her again, safe and sound. Where are you? Are you coming home?

Exhausted by his long journey, Muybridge had composed himself, walked to the back entrance, and knocked on the door. He said, “I have a message for you from my wife” and then shot the man dead as soon as he opened his mouth. Theo wished he had a pistol in his belt. He pictured Kay and Reance innocently approaching, chatting intimately of the night before, without a clue, and he would take out the revolver and say “I have a message for you about my wife” and fire a bullet into the bastard’s black heart.

The few show people Theo recognized as Kay’s friends he stopped on the way in and asked if they had seen or heard from her, but each one seemed baffled by the question. His comrade Egon pressed the case, asking if they had seen Reance, had he said anything about coming in late? The clock sped past four, and neither one had shown up. Egon lit another cigar and sat on the stoop. In a little while, worn out from pacing the pavement, Theo joined him in the vigil.

“Women,” Egon said, shaking his head. “Am I right? I wish I had a woman to help me take care of the women in my life. A woman who understands women, a woman to explain women to me.”

“But who would help you understand that woman?”

Pulling the cigar from his mouth, Egon considered the ash and the wet end. “I’m beginning to have serious misgivings about my whole plan.”

“Do you really think she spent the night with Reance?”

A body threw its shadow across the place where they were sitting. “And who am I supposed to have slept with now?”

Squinting into the sunshine, Theo looked up to see a tall man above them, nattily dressed, a tweed coat and vest, a fob and watch chain disappearing into a small pocket. Theo struggled to his feet to confront him. “Reance?”

“At your service.” He clicked his heels like a soldier and bowed his head. His face pinkened as he rose. His thin white hair had retreated toward the back of his scalp, and he wore a crazed mustache joined by two busy sideburns, giving the impression of a refugee from the Victorian era, a raja from the heyday of British East India.

On his feet, Egon spoke for his tongue-tied friend. “This man is making inquiries about a member of the company. Madam Harper, Kay Harper. And we have reason to believe that you were with her last night.”

Through the white snake of his facial hair, Reance grinned at them. “It depends on what you mean by with her.”

“What I’d like you to tell us,” Theo said, “is if you know where she is right now.”

“Good heavens. Why would I know such a thing? I just got here myself.”

“You’re late,” Egon said. “And you needn’t pretend. We have several witnesses who will swear that you were both at a dinner party together and that you followed her home last night.”

Bending at the waist, Reance eased himself down so that he could be face-to-face with the little man. “Who may I ask is asking? Is this a detective?”