‘Not I, sir.’ Douglas jerked his head complacently. ‘I think they’re quite satisfied that you’re spending the night in the shed,’ he whispered. ‘Markins and Tommy and Co. Rather amusing.’

‘Very,’ said Alleyn dryly, ‘but please remember that Miss Lynne and Miss Harme are both included in the deception.’

‘Oh—er, yes. Yes. All right.’

‘It’s important.’

‘Quite.’

‘Thanks very much, Grace,’ said Alleyn. ‘See you, alas, at four-thirty.’

Douglas lowered his voice, ‘Sleep well, sir,’ he chuckled.

‘Thank you. I’ve a job of writing to do first.’

‘And don’t forget to lock your door.’

‘No, no. I’ll come up quietly in a moment.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Alleyn.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Douglas muttered, ‘that I didn’t take it better in there. Bad show.’

‘Not a bit. Goodnight.’

Alleyn waited until he heard a door bang distantly upstairs and then went up to his room. He brought two sweaters and a cardigan out of his wardrobe, put them all on, and then wedged himself into a tweed jacket. The candle he had used the previous night was burned down to less than a quarter of an inch. ‘Good for twenty minutes,’ he thought, and lit it. He heard Douglas come along the passage to the landing, go into the bathroom, emerge, and tap on Terence Lynne’s door. ‘Damn the fellow!’ thought Alleyn, ‘are we never to be rid of his amatory gambits?’ He heard Douglas say, ‘Are you all right, Terry?…Sure? Promise? Goodnight again, then, bless you.’ He creaked away down the passage. Here, it seemed, he ran into Ursula Harme emerging from Fabian’s room. Alleyn watched the encounter through the crack between the hinges of his open door. Ursula whispered and nodded, Douglas whispered and smiled. He patted her on the head. She put her hand lightly on his and came tiptoe with her candle past Alleyn’s door to her own room. Douglas went into his and in a minute or two all was quiet. Alleyn put his torch in one pocket and Arthur Rubrick’s diary in the other. He then went quietly downstairs. A paraffin heater was set out in the hall. He left it behind him with regret and once more went out into the cold. It was now five minutes to eleven.

Alleyn shone his torch on Markins. Sitting on a heap of empty bales with one pulled about his shoulders, he looked like some chilly kobold. Alleyn squatted beside him and switched off his torch.

‘It’ll be nice when we can converse in a normal manner with no more stage whispers,’ he muttered.