"I think I would have known," said Alleyn. "From where we are you can see his eyes—they don't quite focus."

"I call it a damn' good performance," said Nigel.

"Yes," murmured Alleyn. "Yes. You've seen the piece before, haven't you?"

"Reviewed it," said Nigel, rather grandly.

"Has Surbonadier's reading of the part altered at all?"

Nigel turned and stared at his friend. "Well," he said slowly, "now I come to think of it I believe it has. It's—it's sort of more intense. I mean in that last scene with Felix, when they were alone on the stage. What is it he says to Felix? Something about getting him?"

"'I'll get you, Carruthers,' " quoted Alleyn, with an uncannily just rendering of Surbonadier's thick voice. "'I'll get you, and just when you least expect it!' "

"Good Lord, Alleyn, what a memory you've got!" said Nigel, very startled.

"I've never before seen anything on the stage that impressed me so deeply."

"All carried away like," jibed Nigel, but Alleyn refused to laugh.

"It was uncanny," he said. "The atmosphere of the dressing-room intensified on the stage. Intensified and bigger than life, like emotion in a nightmare. And then he said: 'You think I'm bluffing, playing a part, don't you?' And 'Carruthers'—Gardener, you know—said: 'I think you're bluffing, Beaver—yes. But if you're not—look out!' "

"You're a damn' good mimic, inspector."

"Clap-trap stuff it is really," said Alleyn uneasily.

"What's the matter with you?"

"I don't know. Got the ooble-boobles. Let's have a drink."

They went to the bar. The inspector was very silent and read his programme. Nigel looked at him curiously. He felt apologetic about the horribly uncomfortable scene in the dressing-room and wondered very much what was brewing between Gardener, Surbonadier and Miss Vaughan.

"I suppose old Felix has cut that bounder out?" he ventured.

"Yes," said Alleyn. "Oh, yes—that, of course." The warning bell set up its intolerable racket. "Come on," said Alleyn. "Don't let's miss any of it." He fidgeted while Nigel finished his drink, and led the way back to their stalls.

"The supper-party won't be much fun, I'm afraid," said Nigel.

"Oh—the supper-party. Perhaps it'll be off."

"Perhaps. What'll we do if it's on? Apologise and get out?"

"Wait and see."

"Helpful suggestion!"

"I don't think the supper-party will happen."

"Here she goes," remarked Nigel, as the lights slowly died away, leaving the auditorium in thick-populated darkness.

At the bottom of the blackness in front of them a line of light appeared. It widened, and in a silence so complete that the sound of the pulleys could be heard, the curtain rose on the last act of The Rat and the Beaver.