another, more successful actor in the same Adelphi company. This was William Abingdon who often played the villain to Terriss’s hero. Abingdon, partly out of mischief, partly out of jealousy of the popular Terriss, encouraged Archer to think that Terriss was hampering his career. He even got up a private rehearsal at which, to the derision of those who witnessed it, Archer performed Terriss’s part of the hero in the successful melodrama, One of the Best . In the Adelphi company Archer was known as ‘Mad Archer’ and, once, when faced with this accusation had replied: ‘Mad? Mad? You will hear of my madness. The whole world will ring with it.’ When his engagement at the Adelphi finished, Archer found himself increasingly hard up and his delusions increased. He attempted to interest managements in a play he had written called Countess Otho , but this failed. He resorted to sponging off his sister, a well known prostitute, who frequented the notorious Empire Promenade. On the morning of December 16th, Archer, wandering the streets of London, encountered his sister on the arm of his old colleague William Abingdon. Archer begged them for money, but was brutally rejected. With the remaining pennies in his pocket Archer bought a knife and stationed himself outside the stage door of the Adelphi. When Terriss arrived for the evening performance of his new play Secret Service , Archer approached him and stabbed him several times in the back. Terriss was dead in a matter of hours. Not long after the funeral, Terriss’s son-in-law, the musical comedy star Seymour Hicks, confronted William Abingdon with his responsibility for the crime. Abingdon broke down completely and soon after left for America. After prospering for a while in the States as an actor, Abingdon began to be increasingly out of work, and on the 19th May 1918 committed suicide by cutting his throat. Archer, found guilty but insane at his trial, survived in Broadmoor until the year 1937. He harboured to the end his fantasies about becoming a great actor, and often took the lead in performances put on by the asylum’s criminally insane inmates.
Among the letters my Great Aunt had kept I found one that had been read and then carefully replaced in its envelope which carried an American stamp. It is written on the office notepaper, the heading of which was familiar:
Sammons Plays Ltd, for the Finest in Today’s Drama,
303 W 57th St. NY. U.S.A.
December 20th 1918.
Dear Miss Payne,
I shouldn’t be writing you this only I got a hint that my Boss Mr Sammons was going to send you something through the post which you should not accept. The Boss means no good by you, Miss Payne. This I know. He’s still awful bitter about the way things broke up between you two, and when he gets bitter he can be awful mean. That thing he sent in the post to you may just look like paper, but believe me it ain’t. It caused nothing but trouble. I can’t explain exactly, but wherever it was this bum kept hanging around the office. He had these eyes like he’d gone dark inside. We kind of saw him and yet we didn’t. And whenever he was there, this play script was out lying on the desk or something, even when it had been locked away. There was rows and fights about it like you wouldn’t believe.
In the end Mr Cresby—you remember him? He’s the Boss’s right hand man—he says, let’s burn the darn thing. But the Boss says, no, I got a better use for it. Then I see the boss tying up a parcel to send to you, so I guess it might be the play script. I come in to take the mail and offer to take it, but the boss says no, I’ll post it myself. May be he knew I would have burnt it rather than send you trouble. So if you get that parcel, don’t you open it. Just get rid of it or something. It sure ain’t no Christmas Present.
You won’t know me. I’m just the office boy round here, but I remember you. You always smiled at me awful nice when you came into the office to see the Boss.
Among the letters my Great Aunt had kept I found one that had been read and then carefully replaced in its envelope which carried an American stamp. It is written on the office notepaper, the heading of which was familiar:
Sammons Plays Ltd, for the Finest in Today’s Drama,
303 W 57th St. NY. U.S.A.
December 20th 1918.
Dear Miss Payne,
I shouldn’t be writing you this only I got a hint that my Boss Mr Sammons was going to send you something through the post which you should not accept. The Boss means no good by you, Miss Payne. This I know. He’s still awful bitter about the way things broke up between you two, and when he gets bitter he can be awful mean. That thing he sent in the post to you may just look like paper, but believe me it ain’t. It caused nothing but trouble. I can’t explain exactly, but wherever it was this bum kept hanging around the office. He had these eyes like he’d gone dark inside. We kind of saw him and yet we didn’t. And whenever he was there, this play script was out lying on the desk or something, even when it had been locked away. There was rows and fights about it like you wouldn’t believe.
In the end Mr Cresby—you remember him? He’s the Boss’s right hand man—he says, let’s burn the darn thing. But the Boss says, no, I got a better use for it. Then I see the boss tying up a parcel to send to you, so I guess it might be the play script. I come in to take the mail and offer to take it, but the boss says no, I’ll post it myself. May be he knew I would have burnt it rather than send you trouble. So if you get that parcel, don’t you open it. Just get rid of it or something. It sure ain’t no Christmas Present.
You won’t know me. I’m just the office boy round here, but I remember you. You always smiled at me awful nice when you came into the office to see the Boss.
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