He rose, listened at Jeremy’s door, heard him snore and stole downstairs. He let himself out into London.

Into the early morning sounds and sights of the river and of the lanes and steps and streets. The day was fresh and sunny and would presently be warm. He walked to the gap where he could look across the Thames to Southwark. The newly-painted stage-house and dome of The Dolphin showed up clearly now and the gilded flagpole glittered so brightly it might have been illuminated.

As he stared at it a bundle ran up and opened out into their new flag: a black dolphin on a gold ground. Jobbins was on his mark in good time. Big Ben and all the clocks in the City struck eight and Peregrine’s heart’s blood rose and pounded in his ears. The glory of London was upon him. A kind of rarefied joy possessed him, a trembling anticipation of good fortune that he was scared to acknowledge.

He was piercingly happy. He loved all mankind with indiscriminate embracement and more particularly Emily Dunne. He ran back to the flat and sang Rigoletto on his way upstairs.

‘You look,’ Jeremy said, ‘like the dog’s dinner and you sound like nothing on earth. Can you be joyful?’

‘I can and I am.’

‘Long may it last.’

‘Amen.’

He could eat no breakfast. Even black coffee disgusted him. He went over to the theatre at nine o’clock. Jeremy was to come in at ten with Emily and the assistants from the museum to see the installation of the glove and documents. He, too, crackled like a cat’s fur with first night nerves.

When Peregrine arrived at The Dolphin it was alive with cleaners and florists’ assistants. As he went upstairs he heard the telephone ring, stop and ring again. The bar was in a state of crates, cartons and men in shirtsleeves, and on the top landing itself two packing cases had been opened and their contents displayed; a pair of wrought-iron pedestals upon which were mounted two bronze dolphins, stylized and sleek. They were a gift from Mr Conducis who had no doubt commissioned Mr Greenslade to go to ‘the best man’. This he might be said to have done with the result that while the dolphins were entirely out of style with their company and setting they were good enough to hold their own without causing themselves or their surroundings to become ridiculous.

Peregrine suggested that they should be placed in the circle foyer. One on each side of the steps from the sunken landing.

He crossed the foyer and went into the office.

Winter Morris was behind his desk. He was not alone. A very tall man with an air of elegance and authority stood up as Peregrine entered.

‘Oh, lord,’ Peregrine thought. ‘Another of the Conducis swells or is it somebody to check up on how we behave with the Royals? Or what?’

‘Morning, Perry old boy,’ said Morris. ‘Glad you’ve come in. Mr Peregrine Jay, Superintendent Alleyn.’