There, on its back in a loud overcoat and slippers lay the shell of Jobbins. The woollen cap had not fallen from the skull but had been stove into it. Out of what had been a face, broken like a crust now, and glistening red, one eye stared at nothing.

Beside this outrage lay a bronze dolphin, grinning away for all it was worth through a wet, unspeakable mask.

Everything round Peregrine seemed to shift a little as if his vision had swivelled like a movie camera. He saw, without comprehension, a square of reflected light on the far wall and its source above the landing. He saw, down below him, the top of Hawkins’s head. He moved to the balustrade, held on to it and with difficulty controlled an upsurge of nausea. He fetched a voice out of himself.

‘Have you rung the police?’

‘I better had, didn’t I? I better report, didn’t I?’ Hawkins gabbled without moving.

‘Stay where you are. I’ll do it.’

There was a general purposes telephone in the downstairs foyer outside the box-office. He ran down to it and, controlling his hand, dialled the so celebrated number. How instant and how cool the response.

‘No possibility of survival, sir?’

‘God, no. I told you –’

‘Please leave everything as it is. You will be relieved in a few minutes. Which entrance is available? Thank you.’

Peregrine hung up. ‘Hawkins,’ he said. ‘Go back to the stage-door and let the police in. Go on.’

‘Yes. OK. Yes, Mr Jay.’

‘Well, go on, damn you.’

Was there an independent switch anywhere in the foyer for front-of-house lighting or was it all controlled from backstage? Surely not. He couldn’t remember. Ridiculous. Emily was out there in the darkened stalls. He went in and found her standing just inside the doors.

‘Emily?’

‘Yes. All right. Here I am.’

He felt her hands in his. ‘This is a bad thing,’ he said hurriedly. ‘It’s a very bad thing, Emily.’

‘I heard what you said on the telephone.’

‘They’ll be here almost at once.’

‘I see. Murder,’ Emily said, trying the word.

‘We can’t be sure.’

They spoke aimlessly. Peregrine heard a high-pitched whine inside his own head and felt sickeningly cold. He wondered if he was going to faint and groped for Emily. They put their arms about each other. ‘We must behave,’ Peregrine said, ‘in whatever way one is expected to behave. You know? Calm? Collected? All the things people like us are meant not to be.’

‘That’s right. Well, so we will.’ He stooped his head to hers. ‘Can this be you?’ he said.

A sound crept into their silence: a breathy intermittent sound with infinitesimal interruptions that seemed to have some sort of vocal quality. They told each other to listen.

With a thick premonition of what was to come, Peregrine put Emily away from him.