"Quite possible. During the black-out. Oh, it's a very nasty bit of goods, this is. And so clever, so filthily clever. Everything nice and simple. No fancy touches. I tell you one thing, all of you, for what it's worth. I've been telling it to myself ever since this started. We're up against good acting."

"Yes," said Nigel thoughtfully, "the very best."

"As you say. It's a West End production, bad luck to it."

"Anything on the thumb of the right-hand glove?" asked Fox abruptly.

"Oh, Mr. Fox, aren't you wonderful?" he said. "Such a lovely quality, moddom, or, rather, sir. Yes, definitely, 'sir.' Have a sniff." He held them out.

"I've got it," said Fox. "They smell of cigars, and scent, and—damn it—where did I smell that scent?"

"On Mr. Jacob Saint."

"By gum, you're right, sir."

"It's a very good scent. Something rather special. But how careless of Mr. Saint to lose his gloves, how rather surprisingly careless." He handed the glove over to his colleague.

"When were they lost? He was wearing none when he came round," Fox declared. "I know that because he shoved me aside at the door, and his ring dug into my hand."

"His altogether too big signet ring," murmured Alleyn. "It does dig in. Look!"

He held up the little finger of the left-hand glove. The base showed a distinct bulge.

"He was behind the scenes earlier in the evening, you know. Before the curtain went up. Then he was in front."

"Could he have come round again, later?" asked Nigel.

"We must find out. By George, Fox, what happened to the old gentleman?"

"Who's he?"

"The stage door-keeper."

"I never saw one. He must have gone home during the first few moments."

"He was there when we came round. Not very good. He'll have to be traced. Oh well, let's have Miss Vaughan. I think I'll see her alone, if you please, Fox. There's nothing much else to be done here that I can think of. Have you looked closely at the thumb?"

"Yes," said Fox carefully. "There's a bit of whitish stain on it."

"There is, indeed. We may want an analysis of that to compare with the cartridges."

"What do you make it out to be?"

"Oh, cosmetic, Fox, cosmetic. While I'm talking to Miss Vaughan, see if you two can match it in any of the dressing-rooms. Take samples of any make-up that looks like it and note where from, and all that. And now would you take my compliments to Miss Vaughan and ask her if she would be kind enough to come out here?"

Fox and Bailey went off. Presently the constable who had been stationed outside the wardrobe-room came back and with a glance at Alleyn disappeared in the direction of the stage door. Alleyn followed him, said something that Nigel did not catch and returned.

"Any objection to noting this down for me?" asked Alleyn.