Alleyn went through the front of the house and sought out the telephone in the box-office. Enlargements of actresses smiled or stared soulfully at him from the walls. "All the best," "To dear Robert," "Ever yours," he read. In the centre was a magnificent picture of a woman standing in an open window. Written firmly across the mount were two words only: "Stephanie Vaughan." When he had dialled his number Alleyn turned and gazed steadfastly at this picture.

"Hullo!" said a sleepy voice in the receiver.

"Hullo. I thought I said there were to be no more little visits."

"Oh—it's you."

"It is," said Alleyn grimly.

"I had an idea. You needn't get all hot and bothered, I didn't see anybody. I rang for five minutes and then came away. Even the servant was out."

"You rang for five minutes, did you?"

"Yes. I say, is everything all right?"

"Perfectly splendid. There's been another murder at the Unicorn."

"What!!"

"Go to bed and stay there," advised Alleyn and hung up the receiver.

He crossed over and looked more closely at the photograph on the opposite wall.

"Oh, hell!" he said and went back to the stage of the Unicorn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Final Curtain

ON THE MORNING of June 17th, at a quarter to eleven, old Blair hung his dilapidated bowler above the tall stool in his cubbyhole behind the stage door. He glanced at the grimy clock and clicked disapproval when he saw that it had been allowed to run down. He inspected the letter rack which was garnished with a solitary postcard, addressed to Miss Susan Max. Blair advanced his nose to within four inches of its surface and read it:

"Susan darling, how terrible this all is dear my heart goes out to you in this terrible time it must be quite dreadful for you dear, our show goes big in this place and we are doing wonderful business dear. All the best, Daisy."

Blair sucked his teeth, but whether in scorn or appreciation it would be impossible to say.

Footsteps sounded in the alley outside. Old Blair groaned slightly and returned to the stage door. The constable at the stalls entrance saluted. Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn and Inspector Fox followed by Detective-Sergeant Bailey and three plain clothes men walked up to the entrance.

"Good morning, Blair," said Alleyn.

"'Morning, sir."

The party went in at the stage door and down the long passage past the wall of the dock. On the stage they were met by two more plain clothes men—Thompson and Watkins.

"Everything fixed up?" asked Alleyn.

"Yes, sir."

Alleyn looked up towards the flies. A ceiling-cloth had been stretched across and tied back to the first of the grid galleries.

"If you'll just listen, sir," said Thompson.