"So we agreed. He had provided himself with live cartridges before he was drunk perhaps."

"What d'yer mean? Oh. Wouldn't put it past him. Where's Janet?"

"Who?"

"Miss Emerald."

"The artists are all in the wardrobe-room."

"I'll go and see her."

"Please don't move, Mr. Saint. I'll let her know. Miss Emerald, please, Fox."

Inspector Fox went. Saint glared after him, appeared to hesitate and then produced a cigar-case. "Smoke?" he said.

"No, thank you so much," said Alleyn. "I'm for a pipe." Saint lit a cigar.

"Understand this," he said. "I'm no hypocrite and I don't spill any sob stuff over Arthur. He was a rotten failure. When one of my shows crashes I forget about it—a dud speculation. So was Arthur. Rotten all through, and a coward, but enough of an actor to see himself in a star part at last—and play it. He was crazy to play a big part, and when I wouldn't give him 'Carruthers' he—he actually threatened me—me!"

"Where did you see him to-night?"

"In his dressing-room. I had business in the office here and went behind."

"Would you care to tell me what happened?"

"Told you already. He was drunk and I fired him."

"What did he say?"

"Didn't wait to listen. I had an appointment in the office for seven-fifteen. Janet!" Saint's voice changed. He got to his feet. Nigel moved a little and saw that Janet Emerald had appeared in the prompt doorway. She gave a loud cry, rushed across the stage and threw herself into Saint's arms.

"Jacco! Jacco!" she sobbed.

"Poor baby—poor baby," Saint murmured, and Nigel marvelled at the kindness in his voice as he soothed the somewhat large and overwhelming Miss Emerald.

"It wasn't you," she said suddenly. "They can't say it was you!" She threw her head back distractedly and her face, cleaned now of its make-up, looked ghastly. Saint had his back to Nigel, but it was sufficiently eloquent of the shock her words had given him. Still holding her, he was frozen into immobility. When he spoke his voice was controlled but no longer tender.

"Poor kid," he said, in the best theatre-magnate manner. "You're all hysterical. Me! Do I seem like a murderer, baby?"

"No, no—I'm mad. It was so awful, Jacco. Jacco, it was so awful."

"M-m—m-m—m-m," growled Mr. Saint soothingly.

"Quite," Alleyn's voice cut in. "Most unpleasant. I am sure you must be longing to get away from it all, Miss Emerald."

"I'll drive you home," offered Jacob Saint. He and Miss Emerald stood side by side now and Nigel could see how pale they both were.

"An excellent idea." Alleyn's voice sounded close to the door. "But first of all may I just put a few questions to Miss Emerald?"

"You may not," said Saint. "If you want anything you can come and see her to-morrow. Get that?"