‘That will do, Harry.’

‘Dear Perry. Of course.’

‘You told us a moment ago, Mr Random,’ Alleyn said, ‘that the boy didn’t reveal the number.’

‘Nor did he. Not the correct number,’ Random said quickly.

Destiny Meade said: ‘Yes, but why were you so sure it was the wrong number?’

‘It’s the Dolphin telephone number, darling,’ Grove said. ‘WAT 55531. Remember?’

‘Is it? Oh, yes. Of course it is.’

‘First thing to enter his head in his fright, I suppose,’ Random said.

‘You really frightened him?’ asked Alleyn.

‘Yes, I did. Little horror. He’d have told me if he’d known.’ Random added loudly: ‘He didn’t know the combination and he couldn’t have opened the lock.’

‘He was for ever badgering me to drop a hint,’ Winter Morris said. ‘Needless to say, I didn’t.’

‘Precisely,’ said Random.

Peregrine said: ‘I don’t see how you can be so sure, Charlie. He might simply have been holding out on you.’

‘If he knew the combination and meant to commit the theft,’ Knight said, flinging himself down into his chair again, ‘he certainly wouldn’t tell you what it was.’

There was a general murmur of fervent agreement. ‘And after all,’ Harry Grove pointed out, ‘you couldn’t have been absolutely sure, could you, Charles, that you hit on the right number yourself or even the right type of code? Or could you?’ He grinned at Random. ‘Did you try?’ he asked. ‘Did you prove it, Charles? Did you have a little tinker? Before the treasure went in?’

For a moment Random looked as if he would like to hit him but he tucked in his lips, gave himself time and then spoke exclusively to Alleyn.

He said: ‘I do not believe that Trevor opened the safe and consequently I’m absolutely certain he didn’t kill Bert Jobbins.’ He settled his shoulders and looked defiant.

Winter Morris said: ‘I suppose you realize the implication of what you’re saying, Charles?’

‘I think so.’

‘Then I must say you’ve an odd notion of loyalty to your colleagues.’

‘It doesn’t arise.’

‘Doesn’t it!’ Morris cried and looked restively at Alleyn.

Alleyn made no answer to this. He sat with his long hands linked together on Peregrine’s desk.

The superb voice of Marcus Knight broke the silence.

‘I may be very dense,’ he said, collecting his audience, ‘but I cannot see where this pronouncement of Charles’s leads us. If, as the investigation seems to establish, the boy never left the theatre and if the theatre was locked up and only Hawkins had the key of the stage-door: then how the hell did a third person get in?’

‘Might he have been someone in the audience who stayed behind?’ Destiny asked, brightly. ‘You know? Lurked?’

Peregrine said: ‘The ushers, the commissionaire, Jobbins and the ASM did a thorough search front and back after every performance.’

‘Well, then perhaps Hawkins is the murderer,’ she said exactly as if a mystery-story were under discussion. ‘Has anyone thought of that?’ she appealed to Alleyn, who thought it better to disregard her.