‘Look,’ Alleyn said. ‘Put this situation to yourself and see how you like it. Jobbins is still alive. Somebody knocks on the pass-door in the front entrance. He goes down. A recognized voice asks him to open up – an actor has left his money in his dressing-room or some such story. Jobbins lets him in. The visitor goes backstage saying he’ll let himself out at the stage-door. Jobbins takes up his post. At midnight he does his routine telephoning and the sequel follows.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘God bless my soul, my dear chap, for a brilliant playwright you’ve a quaint approach to logic. I don’t know it. I merely advance it as a way in which your lock-up theory could be made to vanish. There is at least one other, even simpler solution which is probably the true one. The only point I’m trying to make is this. If you clamp down on telling me anything at all about any member of your company you may be very fastidious and loyal and you may be protecting the actual butcher but you’re not exactly helping to clear the other six – seven if you count Conducis.’

Peregrine thought it over. ‘I think,’ he said at last, ‘that’s probably a lot of sophistical hooey but I get your point. But I ought to warn you, you’ve picked a dud for the job. I’ve got a notoriously bad memory. There are things,’ Peregrine said slowly, ‘at the back of my mind that have been worrying me ever since this catastrophe fell upon us. Do you think I can fetch them up? Not I.’

‘What do you connect them with?’

‘With noises made by Trevor, I think. And then, with Conducis. With the morning when he showed me the treasure. But of course then I was drunk so I’m unreliable in any case. However: tell me what you want to know and I’ll see about answering.’

‘Too kind,’ said Alleyn dryly. ‘Start with – anyone you like. Marcus Knight. What’s his background apart from the Press handouts? I know all about his old man’s stationer’s shop in West Ham and how he rose to fame. Is it true he’s temperamental?’

Peregrine looked relieved. ‘If it’s only that sort of thing! He’s hell and well-known for it but he’s such a superb actor we all do our best to lump the temperament. He’s a jolly nice man really, I daresay, and collects stamps but he can’t take the lightest criticism without going up like a rocket. An unfavourable notice is death to him and he’s as vain as a peacock. But people say he’s a sweetie at bottom even if it’s a fair way to bottom.’