He shook some of the dust from Props's hair into an envelope, sealed it up, and, taking a fresh envelope, turned his attention to the shoulders of the coat. He climbed the ladder to the top gallery, where he took a further sample of dust. Using his pocket-lens and his torch he examined the rope carefully, paying particular attention to the noose and the three or four feet above it. He also scrutinised the rail and floor of the gallery for some distance beyond the place where the ladder came up. He then measured the length of the drop. Returning to the stage he found a broom under the electrician's gallery, and from this also he obtained a specimen of dust. He examined the body, paying particular attention to the hands. Bailey and the divisional surgeon arrived while he was still about this business.

"You'll find no prints except his," said Alleyn.

The surgeon made his examination.

"I hear the verdict is murder," he said. "I don't know your reading of it, inspector, but he died from strangulation and a broken neck. I can see no signs of anything else, except a slight bruise at the base of the neck."

"Could that have been caused by a downward kick from a stockinged foot?" Alleyn asked.

"Yes," said the surgeon. He looked up to where the iron ladder ran into the galleries. "I see," he said.

"What about Watkins?"

Fox, who had returned to the stage, answered:

"He'd gone home but they are turning him out."

"Any news from Cambridge?"

"A long statement from a servant at Peterhouse. They're sending it round with the officer who went down there. The mortuary van's here."

"Right. They can come in now."

Fox went to the stage door and returned followed by two men with a stretcher.

Props was carried out of the Unicorn at exactly midnight.

"I feel like Hamlet when he killed Polonius," said Alleyn.

"Shakespeare," said Fox. "I don't read that sort of thing myself."

But the surgeon stood on the stage and said quietly: "'Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell.' I suppose the words have been spoken here before," he reflected.

"Under somewhat different circumstances," said Alleyn harshly.

"Here's Watkins," said Fox.

Detective-Sergeant Watkins was a stocky, sandy-headed man. He looked worried.

"You want to see me, sir?" he said to Alleyn.

"I want an account of your day, Watkins."

"Very monotonous it was really. The party I was looking after stayed indoors from the time I relieved until the time I came off."

"Are you sure of that?"

Watkins flushed.

"I sat on a bench in the gardens opposite and I stood by the lamp-post. I never took my eyes off the door, sir."

"Who passed in and out?"

"Other people in the building. I saw my party several times—looked out of the window."

"When was the last time you noted that?"

"At fifteen minutes to ten, sir," said Watkins triumphantly.