“Potatoes. Now you know why I came to Boston.”
“Shall we go for a walk, Lillian?”
She had read him wrong. She had assumed by his manners and his costly boots that he would spend money for a room. But at least out of doors, on a chilly spring night, went quick. No doubt about that. She let him steer her into the dark of the Common, saying, “A walk it is,” and still hopeful about a tip.
When Chief Investigator Bell’s orders clattered in on the private telegraph, detectives in the Van Dorn field office atop Boston’s South Station drew straws. Who would hold down the fort? Who would conduct interviews in a theater full of actresses and showgirls? They used matches for straws.
James Dashwood had learned magic tricks and marksmanship from his mother, who had been a sharpshooter in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He palmed a long match before they drew.
The street and sidewalks were blocked by railroad express wagons lining up to enter an alley between two theaters. Stagehands and teamsters were loading in for the marquee that promised
*TOMORROW NIGHT*
ALIAS JIMMY VALENTINE
Direct from NEW YORK
and PHILADELPHIA
“Top O. Henry Short Story Topped Onstage”
—VARIETY
Dodging horses, sidestepping manure, Dashwood passed under the next marquee, which proclaimed
JACKSON BARRETT & JOHN BUCHANAN
Present
DR. JEKYLL and MR. HYDE
Direct from BROADWAY
Featuring the Height of Mechanical Realism
Two Sensational Scenic Effects
He breezed past a sign on the ticket window that read
Opening Night Sold Out
and into the lobby, where he learned from an advance man, buttering up the Globe drama critic, that there weren’t any showgirls. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde wasn’t a musical. But a bright-eyed kid arranging the opera glasses concession assured him they had plenty of actresses.
“I’m trying to run down a girl who read for a role in New York. Who should I ask?”
“Stage manager. Mr. Young.”
“Where’s he?”
“Running rehearsal.”
“Why are they rehearsing? I thought they already played in New York.”
“We’re squashing Broadway sets to fit a Boston stage. If they don’t rehearse, the actors will crash through flats and fall into the orchestra pit.”
“What orchestra pit? It’s not a musical.”
The kid looked at Dashwood like he’d just got off the boat. “We still need music. Incidental music. How we gonna introduce scenes and fire up drama?”