Emily was on the set. It was shut in by the fire-curtain and lit only by a dim infiltration from a working lamp back-stage; a dark, warm, still place.

‘I always think it feels so strange,’ she said, ‘after we’ve left it to itself. As if it’s got a life of its own. Waiting for us.’

‘Another kind of reality?’

‘Yes. A more impressive kind. You can almost imagine it breathes.’

A soughing movement of air up in the grille gave momentary confirmation of Emily’s fancy.

‘Come on,’ Peregrine said. ‘It’s a fine starry night and no distance at all to the top of Wharfingers Lane.’ He had taken her arm and was guiding her to the pass-door when they both heard a thud.

They stood still and asked each other: ‘What was that?’

‘Front-of-house?’ Emily said.

‘Yes. Winty or someone, I suppose.’

‘Wouldn’t they all have gone?’

‘I’d have thought so.’

‘What was it? The noise?’

Peregrine said: ‘It sounded like a seat flapping up.’

‘Yes. It did sound like that.’

‘Wait a bit.’

‘Where are you going?’ she said anxiously.

‘Not far. Just to have a look.’

‘All right.’

He opened the pass-door. The little twisting stair was in darkness but he had a torch in his pocket. Steps led down to the stalls box and up from where he stood, to the box in the circle. He went down and then out into the stalls. They were in darkness. He flapped a seat down and let it spring back. That was the sound.

Peregrine called: ‘Hallo. Anyone there?’ but his voice fell dead in an upholstered silence.

He flashed his torch across walls and shrouded seats. He walked up the new central aisle and into the foyer. It was deserted and dimly lit and street doors were shut. Peregrine called up the stairs.

‘Jobbins.’

‘Eh?’ Jobbins’s voice said. ‘That you, guv? Anything up?’

‘I heard a seat flap. In front.’

‘Didjer, guv?’

Jobbins appeared on the stairs. He wore an extremely loud brown, black and white checked overcoat, a woollen cap and carpet slippers.

‘Good lord!’ Peregrine ejaculated. ‘Are you going to the Dogs or Ally Pally or what? Where’s your brown bowler?’

‘You again, guv?’ Jobbins wheezed. ‘I’d of ‘eld back me quick change if I’d known. Pardon the dishy-bill. Present from a toff this ‘ere coat is and very welcome. Gets chilly,’ he said descending, ‘between nah and the witching ar, when my relief comes in. What’s this abaht a seat?’

Peregrine explained. To his astonishment Jobbins pushed the doors open, strode into the auditorium and uttered in a sort of hoarse bellow –

‘Nah then. Out of it. Come on. You ‘eard.’

Silence.

Then Emily’s voice sounded worried and lonely: ‘What goes on?’ She had groped her way down into the house.

‘It’s all right,’ Peregrine shouted. ‘Won’t be long.’ And to Jobbins: ‘What does go on? You sound as if you’re used to this.’