‘Well,’ Grove remarked with perfect good humour, ‘it’s nice to head the dishonours list, isn’t it? Not having prospects in the other direction. Unlike yourself, Mr Knight. “Mr” “Knight”,’ he continued, beaming at Destiny. ‘A contradiction in terms when one comes to think of it. Never mind: it simply must turn into Sir M. Knight (Knight) before many more New Years have passed.’

Peregrine said: ‘I am sick of telling you to apologize, Harry, for grossly unprofessional behaviour and begin to think you must be an amateur, after all. Please wait outside in the foyer until Mr Alleyn wants you. No. Not another word. Out.’

Harry looked at Destiny, made a rueful grimace and walked off.

Peregrine went to Alleyn: ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, ‘about that little dust-up. We’ve finished. What would you like us to do?’

‘I’d like the women and Random to take themselves off and the rest of the men to wait outside on the landing.’

‘Me included?’

‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not.’

‘As a sort of control.’

‘In the chemical sense?’

‘Well – ’

‘OK,’ Peregrine said. ‘What’s the form?’

‘Just that.’ Alleyn returned to the group of players. ‘If you wouldn’t mind moving out to the circle foyer,’ he said. ‘Mr Jay will explain the procedure.’

Peregrine marshalled them out.

They stood in a knot in front of the shuttered bar and they tried not to look down in the direction of the half-landing. The lowest of the three steps from the foyer to the half-landing and the area where Jobbins had lain, were stripped of carpet. The police had put down canvas sheeting. The steel doors of the wall safe above the landing were shut. Between the back of the landing and the wall, three steps led up to a narrow strip of floor connecting the two halves of the foyer, each with its own door into the circle.

Destiny Meade said: ‘I’m not going down those stairs.’

‘We can walk across the back to the other flight,’ Emily suggested.

‘I’d still have to set foot on the landing. I can’t do it. Harry!’ She turned with her air of expecting everyone to be where she required them and found that Harry Grove had not heard her. He stood with his hands in his pockets contemplating the shut door of the office.

Marcus Knight, flushed and angry, said: ‘Perhaps you’d like me to take you down,’ and laughed very unpleasantly.

She looked coolly at him. ‘Sweet of you,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ and turned away to find herself face-to-face with Jeremy Jones. His freckled face was pink and anxious and his manner diffident. ‘There’s the circle,’ he said, ‘and the pass-door. Could I – ?’

‘Jeremy, darling. Yes – please, please. I know I’m a fool but – well, it’s just how one’s made, isn’t it? Thank you, my angel.’ She slipped her arm into his.