The ambulance came. Peregrine and Emily stood by while Trevor, the whites of his eyes showing under his heavy lashes and his breathing very heavy, was gently examined. A doctor appeared: the divisional surgeon, Peregrine heard someone say. Mr Gibson asked him if there was any chance of a return to consciousness and he said something about Trevor being deeply concussed.

‘He’s got broken ribs and a broken right leg,’ he said, ‘and an unbroken bruise on his jaw. It’s a wonder he’s alive. We won’t know about the extent of internal injuries until we’ve had a look-see,’ said the divisional surgeon. ‘Get him into St Terence’s at once.’ He turned to Peregrine. ‘Would you know of the next-of-kin?’

Peregrine was about to say: ‘Only too well’ but checked himself. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘his mother.’

‘Would you have the address?’ asked Mr Gibson. ‘And the telephone number.’

‘In the office. Upstairs. No, wait a moment. I’ve a cast list in my pocket-book. Here it is: Mrs Blewitt.’

‘Perhaps you’d be so kind as to ring her, Mr Jay. She ought to be told at once. What’s the matter, Mr Jay?’

‘She meets him, usually. At the top of the lane. I – Oh god, poor Jobbins told me that. I wonder what she did when Trevor didn’t turn up. You’d have thought she’d have come to the theatre.’

‘Can we get this boy away?’ asked the divisional surgeon crisply.

‘OK, Doc. You better go with them,’ Mr Gibson said to the constable who had stayed by Trevor. ‘Keep your ears open. Anything. Whisper. Anything. Don’t let some starched battle-axe push you about. We want to know what hit him. Don’t leave him, now.’

Mr Gibson had a piece of chalk in his hand. He ran it round Trevor’s little heap of a body, grinding it into the carpet. ‘OK,’ he said and Trevor was taken away.

The divisional surgeon said he’d take a look-see at the body and went off with the sergeant. Superintendent Gibson was about to accompany them when Peregrine and Emily, who had been in consultation, said: ‘Er – ’ and he turned back.

‘Yes, Mr Jay? Miss Dunne? Was there something?’

‘It’s just,’ Emily said, ‘– we wondered if you knew that Mr Roderick Alleyn – I mean Superintendent Alleyn – supervised the installation of the things that were in the wall-safe. The things that have been stolen.’

‘Rory Alleyn!’ the superintendent ejaculated. ‘Is that so? Now, why was that, I wonder?’

Peregrine explained. ‘I think,’ he said finally, ‘that Mr Vassily Conducis, who owns the things –’

‘So I understand.’

‘ – asked Mr Alleyn to do it as a special favour. Mr Alleyn was very much interested in the things.’