He switched on his torch and followed its beam down the centre aisle. He was under the overhang of the dress-circle but moved on until its rim was above his head. It was here, in the centre aisle of the stalls and below the circle balustrade, that his torchlight came to rest on a small, breathing, faintly audible heap which as he knelt beside it, revealed itself as an unconscious boy.

‘Trevor,’ Peregrine said. ‘Trevor.’

Emily behind him said, ‘Has he been killed? Is he dying?’

‘I don’t know. What should we do? Ring for the ambulance? Ring the Yard again? Which?’

‘Don’t move him. I’ll ring Ambulance.’

‘Yes.’

‘Listen. Sirens.’

‘Police.’

Emily said: ‘I’ll ring, all the same,’ and was gone.

There seemed to be no interval of time between this moment and the occupation of The Dolphin by uniformed policemen with heavy necks and shoulders and quiet voices. Peregrine met the sergeant.

‘Are you in charge? There’s something else since I telephoned. A boy. Hurt but alive. Will you look?’

The sergeant looked. He said: ‘This might be serious. You haven’t touched him, sir?’

‘No. Emily – Miss Dunne who is with me – is ringing the ambulance.’

‘Can we have some light?’

Peregrine, remembering at last where they were, put the houselights on. More police were coming in at the stage-door. He rejoined the sergeant. A constable was told to stay by the boy and report any change.

‘I’ll take a look at this body, if you please,’ the sergeant said.

Emily was at the telephone in the foyer saying: ‘It’s very urgent. It’s really urgent. Please.’

‘If you don’t mind, Miss,’ said the sergeant and took the receiver. ‘Police here,’ he said and was authoritative. ‘They’ll be round in five minutes,’ he said to Emily.

‘Thank God.’

‘Now then, Mr Jay.’ He’d got Peregrine’s name as he came in.

‘May I go back to the boy?’ Emily asked. ‘In case he regains consciousness and is frightened? I know him.’

‘Good idea,’ said the sergeant with a kind of routine heartiness. ‘You just stay there with the boy, Miss – ?’

‘Dunne.’

‘Miss Dunne. Members of the company here, would it be?’

‘Yes,’ Peregrine said. ‘We were at the new restaurant in Wharfingers Lane and came back to shelter from the rain.’

‘Is that so? I see. Well, Miss Dunne, you just stay with the boy and tell the ambulance all you know. Now, Mr Jay.’

A return to the sunken landing was a monstrous thing to contemplate. Peregrine said: ‘Yes. I’ll show you. If you don’t mind I won’t – ’ and reminded himself of Hawkins. ‘It’s terrible,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to balk. This way.’

‘Up the stairs?’ The sergeant asked conversationally, as if he inquired his way to the Usual Offices. ‘Don’t trouble to come up again, Mr Jay. The less traffic, you know, the better we like it.’