Voices and footsteps sounded in the passage and presently a little procession appeared. Miss Dulcie Deamer, Mr. Howard Melville, Mr. J. Barclay Crammer, Inspector Fox. Miss Dulcie Deamer had her street make-up on—that is to say she had aimed a blow at her cheeks with the rouge puff, and had painted a pair of lips somewhere underneath her nose. She still contrived to be jeune fille. J. Barclay Crammer's face showed signs of No. 5 grease paint lingering round the eyebrows and a hint of rather pathetic grey stubble on the chin. He wore a plaid muffler, with one end tossed over his shoulder, and he looked profoundly disgusted. Mr. Melville was pale and anxious.

"Dulcie, how are you going home?" he asked querulously.

"Oh, my God, in a taxi!" she answered drearily.

"I live at Hampstead," Mr. Crammer intoned.

"We are very sorry about all this," said Alleyn, "and will, of course, make ourselves responsible for getting all of you home. The constable at the door will fix it up. Fox, just look after them, will you? Good night."

"Good night, everybody, good night," mimicked Mr. Crammer bitterly. Miss Deamer glanced timidly and confidingly at Alleyn, who bowed formally. Mr. Melville said: "Oh—ah—good night." Alleyn glanced at him and seemed to get an idea.

"Half a minute, Mr. Melville," he said.

Mr. Melville instantly became green in the face.

"I'll only keep you a few moments," explained the inspector, "but we'll let the others go on, I think. Just wait for me in the wardrobe-room, will you?"

The others turned alarmed glances on Mr. Melville, who looked rather piteously after them and then returned to the wardrobe-room. They filed out towards the stage door.

"Fox," said Alleyn, "have they been searched?"

"The men have thoroughly. I—I kind of patted the lady. She's wearing hardly anything."

"Is there room for a glove there, do you think?"

"Oh—a glove. That's different."

"I know it is, and I've let two of 'em out without a complete search, benighted dolt that I am. Still, old Miss Max is really out of the picture, and there was nothing under those sequins except the Emerald. She doesn't wear stays."

"Nor does Dulcie," said Inspector Fox gloomily.

"Fox, we forget ourselves. If you're not sure, persuade her to go to the station and be searched there. If not, send 'em home in taxis and pay for them."

"Right-oh, sir."

"Where's Mr. Gardener?"

"Waiting for you in the deceased's dressing-room."

"Thank you. Are you coming, Bathgate, or do you yearn for your bed?"

"I'll come," said Nigel.

Felix Gardener stood in the middle of the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He started nervously when they came in and then gave a little laugh at himself.

"Is it an arrest?" he said jerkily.

"Not unless you are going to surprise me with a confession," said Alleyn cheerfully. "Let's sit down."