Much Ado About Murder полностью

“You need not be quite so lurid,” Smythe replied dryly, as Kemp shrieked and hammered away at Pope with his wooden ladle, while the latter desperately tried to dislodge the smaller man, who had clamped his legs around him like an octopus and hung on like grim death. “What about the servants?” Smythe continued.

“What about them?” Speed asked. “You do not think they did it, do you? You think they did the foreigner in for all his gold?”

“I honestly do not know,” Smythe said, as Pope finally succeeded in dislodging Kemp, throwing him off, and then rolling over on top of him with his not inconsiderable bulk, squeezing the wind right out of him. “But I very much doubt that a canny merchant would have been careless enough to keep all of his gold inside his house,” Smythe went on, ignoring the combatants. “ ‘Twas not what I intended to suggest, though I suppose ‘tis possible. I meant to ask if Master Leonardo’s servents had not heard anything amiss? After all, does it not seem odd to have a man killed in his own house, and in so violent a manner as you describe, and yet none of the servents knew of it, so that the body was not even found until the daughter arrived home that night?”

Phillips frowned. “Hmm. I must admit that thought never even occurred to me. An excellent question, Tuck. However, I must confess ‘tis one I cannot answer.”

“There were servants in the house, surely?” Smythe said.

“I assume so,” Phillips replied, with a shrug, as Kemp tried in vain to escape from underneath Pope’s bulk. He squirmed and yelped as the larger man took hold of his nose and began twisting it painfully.

“You mean you do not know for certain?” Smythe asked.

“How am I know a thing like that for certain?” Phillips asked. “I have never been in the man’s house, now have I?”

“And yet you know that he was found all cut to ribbons, with blood spilled everywhere?” Smythe asked.

“Well, that was how I heard it,” Phillips said.

“From whom did you hear this?”

“S’trewth, I cannot say for certain,” replied Phillips, with a shrug. “Everyone has been talking about it, it seems.”

“Amazing,” Smythe said. “The man was only killed last night, and this morning, everyone in London seems to know all the details of the crime. If Sir Francis Walsingham had intelligence this good, then the Armada would have been destroyed before it ever even sailed from Spain.”

“What are you picking on me for?” Phillips asked, with an aggrieved air. “I was merely telling you what I had heard. You asked me, after all!”

“Aamaahhhhh! Let me go, you stinking pile of offal!” Kemp wailed.

“ ‘Allo, ‘allo, what’s all this then?” Stackpole demanded, as he came out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Get off him, you great, slobbering dungheap!” He gave Pope a kick that sent him sprawling with a yelp.

“Thank heavens, Stackpole!” Kemp said, clutching at his chest. “The big oaf nearly crushed me! You are a godsend!”

“You’ll not think so when I start mopping up all this mess with your face,” said Stackpole, grabbing him by the shirtfront and glowering at him as he pulled him to his feet. “Who is going to clean this up then?”

“He started it!” cried Kemp, pointing an accusatory finger at Pope.

“I never did, you lying pustule!” protested Pope. “You berated me!”

“Enough!” Stackpole thundered. “I have had my fill of you both! Now clean up this mess or so help me I shall hang you both from the rafters and have Molly beat you with a stick!”

“Have a care now, Stackpole, Kemp might like that,” Bryan said.

“And you be quiet, else I shall have you helping them!” said Stackpole, glaring at him. “I shall have peace in my own house or I shall have you all in pieces! Players! I would have done better to open up my inn to a gang of wandering gypsies!”

The door opened at that moment and Shakespeare came bustling in. “They have taken Corwin!” he announced. “He has been arrested for the murder of Master Leonardo!”

“What?” said Smythe.

Immediately, everyone surrounded Shakespeare and began peppering him with questions. “Patience! Patience!” Will cried out, holding up his hands. “I shall answer one and all, to the fullest extent of my knowledge, but I pray you, my friends, give me room to breathe!”

They backed off and Stackpole pulled out a bench for him. Molly came out, too, along with the cook and the scullery maid, as everyone gathered around Shakespeare to hear the latest news. But before he spoke to that, Shakespeare turned to Smythe.

“ Tis good to see you up and about, Tuck. How does your head feel?” he asked with concern.

“A bit sore, still, and the poultice itches, but otherwise, I am feeling better,” Smythe replied. “Never mind about me, however. Tell us what happened, Will, and begin at the beginning. But first of all, does Ben know about what has transpired?”