The Slaying of the Shrew (Shakespeare & Smythe 2)

“Good Lord!” said Shakespeare. “Is that…?”

“ ‘Tis Holland,” Worley replied. “Or ‘twas Holland, I should say. He has been run through, clean through the heart. There is also a wound here, high in the left shoulder.”

“Oh, God!” Elizabeth said, drawing back. “And what of Blanche?”

“Not a sign of her,” said Worley.

“You do not think…” Elizabeth ’s voice trailed off as she brought her knuckle up to her mouth and bit down on it, as if to stifle a cry.

“I do not yet know what to drink, milady,” he said, frowning.

“Well, I suppose this definitely removes young Holland from our list of suspects,” Shakespeare said.

“Here, Smythe,” said Worley, tossing him a gauntlet. “Strike him for me, will you?”

Smythe caught the glove and smacked Shakespeare on the shoulder with it.

“Sorry,” Shakespeare said, lamely.

“You ought to be.”

“I know ‘twas rather bad form, but I could not help myself. This whole thing is beginning to take on the aspect of a Greek tragedy.”

“ Elizabeth, there is more than one way out of this maze, is there not?” asked Worley.

“There are three,” she replied, “counting the way we came in.”

“As I thought,” he said. “That explains why we did not encounter anyone as we came in. Blanche and the killer must have left by another way.”

“So then he has her?” Smythe said.

“Not necessarily,” Worley replied. “We did not hear her cry out. And Holland here was fully dressed and on his way out from the center of the maze, heading back the way he came. Blanche must have left by another way.”

“Aye, that would make sense,” said Smythe. “ Twould ensure they were not seen together. So whoever killed Holland caught him as he was on his way out. He struck, and Holland cried out in alarm, then drew his blade.”

“That is what I think,” Worley agreed. “This wound here, in the shoulder, must have been the first touch, before Holland had time to draw steel. He must have twisted away at the last moment, else this would have been the fatal touch. The combat was fast and furious, but very brief. The killer had already fled when I arrived and found Holland slain. The question is, why?”

“Good question,” Shakespeare said. “What say we go back to the house, have a drink and mull it over within the safety of four walls and a well lit room?”

“He is eliminating his rivals,” Smythe said.

Worley glanced at him as he stood up from the body. “Aye, a sensible deduction,” he said, nodding. “Our man must feel very secure in his deception.”

“Then why his attempts to kill Tuck?” asked Elizabeth.

“The same reason he has just killed Holland, I should think,” Smythe replied. “He wishes to improve his chances.”

“But does he not place himself even more at risk by this?” asked Elizabeth.

“Perhaps,” said Smythe, “but if he is the sort of man we judge him to be, one who thrives upon the thrill of risk-a gambler, in other words-then this second slaying is nothing more than a playing of the odds.”

“Nothing more?” Elizabeth said, shocked.

“Well, to his mind, Elizabeth, not ours,” Smythe hastened to explain. “Clearly, he has no scruples about the taking of life. It does not trouble his conscience, if he even has one. He must have observed Blanche and Holland together earlier and seen some evidence of a mutual attraction, then followed Holland to their rendezvous and killed him.”

“Wait,” said Worley, “your reasoning is sound, save for one thing. If the killer had followed Holland, then why would he not have encountered me? Or any of you?”

“Indeed, he likely would have,” Smythe corrected himself, “which means he must have followed Blanche, instead. We have already deduced that she must have left the maze by another way, so then it follows that she came by that way, also. That would explain why none of us had seen them.”