‘The comedy line was relentlessly pursued. Charles affected to have the dazzles. Gertrude, dear girl, shuddered like a castanet. There were lots of asides. And even the lady of my heart professed distaste and begged me to shuffle off my chequered career-coat. So I did. Henry Jobbins was wheezing away at the stage-door saying his chubes were chronic and believe it or not I did a sort of your-need-is-greater-than-mine thing, which I could, of course, perfectly well afford. I took it off there and then and gave it to him. There was,’ Harry said loudly, ‘and is, absolutely no merit in this gesture. I simply off-loaded an irksome, vulgar, mistaken choice on somebody who happened to find it acceptable. He was a good bloke, was old Harry. A good bloke.’

‘Did anyone know of this spontaneous gift?’

‘No. Oh, I suppose the man that relieved him did. Hawkins. Henry Jobbins told me this chap had been struck all of a heap by the overcoat when he came in on Friday night.’

‘But nobody else, you think, knew of the exchange?’

‘I asked Jobbins not to say anything. I really could not have stomached the recrudescense of comedy that the incident would have evoked.’ Harry looked sidelong at Alleyn. ‘You’re a dangerous man, Superintendent. You’ve missed your vocation. You’d have been a wow on the receiving side of the confessional grille.’

‘No comment,’ said Alleyn and they both laughed.

Alleyn said: ‘Look here. Would anyone expect to find you in the realm of the front foyer after the show?’

‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘Immediately after. Winty Morris for one. I’ve been working in a TV show and there’s been a lot of carry-on about calls. In the event of any last minute changes I arranged for them to ring this theatre and I’ve been looking in at the office after the show in case there was a message.’

‘Yes, I see.’

‘Last night, though, I didn’t go round because the telly thing’s finished. And anyway I was bound for Dessy Meade’s party. She commanded me, as you’ve heard, to fetch my guitar and I lit off for Canonbury to get it.’

‘Did you arrive at Miss Meade’s flat in Cheyne Walk before or after she and her other guests did?’

‘Almost a dead heat. I was parking when they arrived. They’d been to the little joint in Wharfingers Lane, I understand.’

‘Anyone hear or see you at your own flat in Canonbury?’

‘The man in the flat overhead may have heard me. He complains that I wake him up every night. The telephone rang while I was in the loo. That would be round about eleven. Wrong number. I daresay it woke him, but I don’t know. I was only there long enough to give myself a drink, have a wash, pick up the guitar and out.’

‘What’s this other flatter’s name?’

Harry gave it. ‘Well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I hope I did wake him, poor bugger.’

‘We’ll find out, shall we? Fox?’