Greatly worried by the extravagance of the phrase Peregrine said no more.

The chauffeur went ahead quickly and opened the doors of the car. Peregrine saw that newspaper had been spread over the floor and back seat.

‘Please go,’ his rescuer said, ‘I’ll follow.’

Peregrine shambled across the portico and jumped in at the back. The lining of the mackintosh stuck to his body. He hitched the rug around him and tried to clench his chattering jaw.

A boy’s voice in the street called, ‘Hey, look! Look at that bloke!’ The caretaker from Phipps Bros had appeared at the top of his alley and stared into the car. One or two people stopped and pointed him out to each other.

As his master crossed the portico the chauffeur locked the theatre doors. Holding Peregrine’s unspeakable clothes at arm’s length he put them in the boot of the car and got into the driver’s seat. In another moment they were moving up Wharfingers Lane.

His rescuer did not turn his head or speak. Peregrine waited for a moment or two and then, controlling his voice with some success, said:

‘I’m giving you far too much trouble.’

‘No.’

‘If – if you would be so very kind as to drop me at The Unicorn Theatre I think I could –’

Still without turning his head the man said with extreme formality, ‘I really do beg that you will allow me to –’ he stopped for an unaccountably long time and then said loudly, ‘– to rescue you. I mean to take you to my house and set you right. I shall be most upset otherwise. Dreadfully upset.’

Now he turned and Peregrine had never seen an odder look in anyone’s face. It was an expression almost, he thought, of despair.

‘I am responsible,’ said his extraordinary host. ‘Unless you allow me to make amends I shall – I shall feel – very guilty.’

‘Responsible? But –’

‘It will not take very long I hope. Drury Place.’

‘Oh lord!’ Peregrine thought, ‘what poshery.’ He wondered, suddenly, if perhaps the all too obvious explanation was the wrong one and if his rescuer was a slightly demented gentleman and the chauffeur his keeper.

‘I really don’t see, sir –’ he began but an inaudible conversation was taking place in the front seat.

‘Certainly, sir,’ said the chauffeur and drew up outside the estate agents. He pulled the keys out of his pocket as he entered. The clerk’s face appeared looking anxiously and crossly over the painted lower pane of his window. He disappeared and in a moment came running out and round to the passenger’s side.

‘Well, sir,’ he obsequiously gabbled, ‘I’m sure I’m very sorry this has occurred. Very regrettable, I’m sure. But as I was saying to your driver, sir, I did warn the viewer.’ He had not yet looked at Peregrine but he did so now, resentfully. ‘I warned you,’ he said.

‘Yes, yes,’ Peregrine said. ‘You did.’

‘Yes, well, thank you. But I’m sure –’