Peregrine remembered that on their former encounter Mr Conducis had seemed to dislike being followed. He led the way upstairs to the office, opened the door and found Winter Morris in residence, dictating letters. Peregrine made a complicated but apparently eloquent face and Morris got to his feet in a hurry.

Mr Conducis walked in looking at nothing and nobody.

‘This is our manager, sir. Mr Winter Morris, Mr Conducis.’

‘Oh, yes. Good morning,’ said Mr Conducis. Without giving an impression of discourtesy he turned away. ‘Really, old boy,’ as Mr Morris afterwards remarked. ‘He might have been giving me the chance to follow my own big nose instead of backing out of The Presence.’

In a matter of seconds Mr Morris and the secretary had gone to lunch.

‘Will you sit down, sir?’

‘No, thank you. I shall not be long. In reference to the glove and documents: I am told that their authenticity is established.’

‘Yes.’

‘You have based your piece upon these objects?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have gone into the matter of promotion with Greenslade and with two persons of my acquaintance who are conversant with this type of enterprise.’ He mentioned two colossi of the theatre. ‘And have given some thought to preliminary treatment. It occurs to me that, properly manipulated, the glove and its discovery and so on, might be introduced as a major theme in promotion.’

‘Indeed it might,’ Peregrine said fervently.

‘You agree with me? I have thought that perhaps some consideration should be given to the possibility of timing the release of the glove-story with the opening of the theatre and of displaying the glove and documents, suitably protected and housed, in the foyer.’

Peregrine said with what he hoped was a show of dispassionate judgement that surely, as a piece of pre-production advertising, this gesture would be unique. Mr Conducis looked quickly at him and away again. Peregrine asked him if he felt happy about the security of the treasure. Mr Conducis replied with a short exegesis upon wall safes of a certain type in which, or so Peregrine confusedly gathered, he held a controlling interest.

‘Your public relations and press executive,’ Mr Conducis stated in his dead fish voice, is a Mr Conway Boome.’

‘Yes. It’s his own name,’ Peregrine ventured wondering for a moment if he had caught a glint of something that might be sardonic humour but Mr Conducis merely said: ‘I daresay. I understand,’ he added, ‘that he is experienced in theatrical promotion but I have suggested to Greenslade that having regard for the somewhat unusual character of the type of material we propose to use, it might be as well if Mr Boome were to be associated with Maitland Advertising which is one of my subsidiaries. He is agreeable.’

‘I’ll be bound he is,’ Peregrine thought.

‘I am also taking advice on the security aspect from an acquaintance at Scotland Yard, a Superintendent Alleyn.’

‘Oh, yes.’