He ran to the stage-door. Water still dripped from the gutters in the alleyway but the stars shone overhead. Destiny and her smart friends came out, making a great to-do. When she saw Peregrine she stopped them all and introduced him. They said things like: ‘Absolutely riveting’ and ‘Loved your play’ and ‘Heaven’. They made off, warning each other about the puddles. Harry Grove said: ‘I’ll go on, then, and fetch it, if you really want me to. See you later, angel.’ ‘Don’t be too long, now,’ Destiny called after him. Peregrine heard Harry’s sports car start up.

Peregrine told the stage-door keeper he could shut up shop and go. He returned to Emily. As he walked towards the darkened set he was aware of a slight movement and thought it must have been the pass-door into front-of-house. As if somebody had just gone through and softly closed it. A back-stage draught no doubt.

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?’