‘Which I am,’ Jobbins sourly endorsed. ‘It’s that perishing childwonder, that’s what it is. ’E done it before and ‘e’ll do it again and once too often.’

‘Does what?’

“‘Angs abaht.’Is mum plays the steel guitar in a caff, see, acrost the river. She knocks off at eleven and ’er ’earts-delight sallies forth to greet ’er at the top of the lane. And ’e fills in the gap, buggering rhand the theyater trying to make out ’e’s a robber or a spectrum. ’E knows full well I can’t leave me post so ’e ’ides ’isself in various dark regions. “’Ands Up,” ’e yells. “Stick ’em up,” ’e ’owls, and crawls under the seats making noises like ’e’s bein’ strangulated which ’e will be if ever I lay me ‘ands on ’im. Innit marvellous?’

From somewhere backstage a single plangent sound rang out and faded. It was followed by an eldritch screech of laughter, a cat-call and a loud slam.

‘There ’e goes,’ said Jobbins and flung an ejaculation of startling obscenity into the auditorium.

‘I’ll get that little bastard,’ Peregrine said. He foolishly made a dash for the treble-locked doors into the portico.

‘You’ll never catch ‘im, guv,’ Jobbins said. His voice had almost vanished with excessive vocal exercise. ’E’ll be ‘alf-way up the lane and going strong. His mum meets ’im at the top when she’s sober.’

‘I’ll have the hide off him tomorrow,’ Peregrine said. ‘All right, Jobbins. I’ll see you’re not pestered again. And anyway as far as the treasure is concerned this is your last watch.’

‘That’s right, sir. Positively the last appearance in this epoch-making role.’

‘Good night again.’

‘Good night, guv. Best of British luck.’

Peregrine went into the stalls. ‘Emily!’ he called. ‘Where are you, my poor girl?’

‘Here,’ Emily said, coming up the aisle.

‘Did you see the little swine?’

‘No. I was in front. He came down from the circle. I could hear him on the steps.’

Peregrine looked at his watch. Five past eleven. He took her arm. ‘Let’s forget him,’ he said, ‘and sling our hooks. We’ve wasted ages. They shut at midnight. Come on.’

They slammed the stage-door behind them. The night was still fine and quite warm. They climbed Wharfingers Lane and went in under the illuminated sign of the new bistro: ‘The Younger Dolphin’.

It was crowded, noisy and extremely dark. The two waiters were dressed as fishermen in tight jeans, striped jumpers and jelly-bag caps. A bas relief of a dolphin wearing a mortarboard was lit from below.

As their eyes adjusted to the gloom they saw that Destiny and her three audience friends were established at a table under the dolphin and had the air of slumming. Destiny waggled her fingers at them and made faces to indicate that she couldn’t imagine why she was there.