The Case of the Director's Vacant Cabinet

It was a wet Saturday in the second week of March 1893 when Mr Anstruther, manager of the Coronet Theatre in Wellington Street, came up our stairs at three in the afternoon with a face the colour of his playbills.

"Forty pounds, Mr Holmes. The week's wages, locked into my own safe at half past one this morning. The matinée was on, the company in their dressing-rooms, the doorkeeper at his post. I went out at two o'clock to the bank, came back at half past, and found the safe-door swung open and the box empty. The lock has not been forced."

There were, by his account, five people about the back of the theatre that afternoon: himself, two stage hands, the lead actress's husband (who had quarrelled with her on Wednesday and had come to make amends), and the doorkeeper. The matinée audience had been counted in front and could not have come behind. Mr Anstruther had, he confessed, owed his backers a payment by Tuesday next, but he had not, he said, taken his own takings; the loss was his ruin, not his salvation.

We rode down with him in a hansom. A thin man in a grey ulster was pacing the corner of Wellington Street as we left, and a deep cough turned his face to the gas-lamp before he resumed his post. Holmes set down his cane on the seat and said only, "The safe, Mr Anstruther — and the doorkeeper's chair."

The Scene

Hand-drawn case map for The Case of the Director's Vacant Cabinet, showing The Coronet Theatre, Wellington Street, Covent Garden. — The ground in question.

Setting: The Coronet Theatre, Wellington Street, Covent Garden
Time: Saturday afternoon, second week of March 1893
Weather: Cold; a thin rain on the gas-lamps; the matinée crowd thinning
Atmosphere: The corridors behind the stage smell of greasepaint and lamp-oil; ropes and counterweights creak; an actress's voice carries from the rehearsal-room above.

The Suspects

Mr Anstruther

Manager of the Coronet Theatre

A florid man of fifty, much shaken. He kept the safe in his own office and held the only key on a fob at his waistcoat. His backers had served him with a payment-demand for Tuesday next, of a sum twenty pounds shy of the missing wages. He spoke of it openly and at length to anyone who would listen.
Mr Frampton

Senior stage hand, eight years at the Coronet

A wiry man of forty in shirtsleeves and braces. He had owed a small sum to a turf accountant in Long Acre since November; on the Friday before the theft he had paid it off in full, and the bookmaker's clerk had given him a receipt which he produced without reluctance.
Mr Dunne

New stage hand, three weeks at the Coronet

A quiet man of twenty-eight, joined the company at the start of the run. His sister, Miss Dunne, was the Coronet's stage manager, and had recommended him for the place. He carried, in his apron pocket, a small toolkit such as any stage hand might. He had, until two months previously, kept lodgings near a Camberwell locksmith.
Mr Larch

Husband of the lead actress

A pale, harried gentleman of thirty-five, who had quarrelled with his wife on the Wednesday and had come behind on Saturday afternoon to leave a small bouquet at her dressing-room door. He had been seen by the doorkeeper to enter at quarter past two and to leave at half past.

The Evidence

The unmarked lock-plate

Mr Anstruther's safe-door bore no scratch upon its outer plate; the lock had been turned, not forced. Holmes examined the keyhole closely with his lens and said only that the lock had received some attention, but not from a key.
Mr Anstruther's backers' demand

A solicitor's letter on the manager's desk, dated the Wednesday, demanding the sum of twenty pounds by Tuesday next on pain of the theatre's licence being foreclosed. Mr Anstruther had spoken of it at the bar, in the green room, and to his wife at supper.
Faint scratches within the wards of the safe-lock

Inside the wards of the safe-lock, by the light of Holmes's lens, three faint and parallel scratches showed against the brass — not the sweep of a key, but the bite of a slim and steady wire worked from the outside. The implement itself had been carried away.
Mr Larch's bouquet

A small posy of violets, dropped beneath the door of his wife's dressing-room. Mr Larch had bought them at a stall outside the Adelphi at one o'clock; the flower-girl remembered him.
Mr Dunne's former lodgings

A scrap of paper in Mr Anstruther's engagement-book, retained from the new stage hand's references in February: "Mr A. Dunne, late of 14 Halford Place, Camberwell — formerly assistant to Mr R. Whitley, locksmith of that town."
Miss Dunne's notes on the safe-room

The Coronet's stage manager keeps a marked plan of the back of the house, with all locked doors and the master's office stamped upon it. The plan was hung openly upon the wall of the prompt-corner, where any of her staff might consult it.

Statements & Testimony

Mr Pidgeon Reliable

Doorkeeper, twenty-two years at the Coronet

“"I had the door from one o'clock, sir. Mr Larch in at quarter past two, out at half past — I marked it on my slate. The Master out at two, in at half past two. Mr Frampton was in the fly-rail all afternoon; he never came down. Mr Dunne stepped out for a smoke at five past two, and I let him back in at twenty past — three minutes' work in the master's office, between, if anyone had a mind to it."”
Miss Dunne Reliable

Stage manager of the Coronet, sister to Mr Dunne

“"My brother is steady, Mr Holmes. He learned his trade with Mr Whitley at Camberwell — the locksmith — and was four years at it before he came to me. Yes, the plan of the back of the house is upon the wall of the prompt-corner. Anyone may look at it. I have nothing to hide."”

The Scene

The Suspects

The Evidence

The unmarked lock-plate

Mr Anstruther's backers' demand

Faint scratches within the wards of the safe-lock

Mr Larch's bouquet

Mr Dunne's former lodgings

Miss Dunne's notes on the safe-room

Statements & Testimony

Your Verdict