The next second they were struggling bitterly. Saint seemed to have gone mad. In a moment the chair was overturned. The two men had crashed across the desk. An inkpot fell to the floor, splashing Saint's light check trousers. The other men had got hold of him. Alleyn still held his wrist. It was now strained across his back, making the rolls of fat and muscle on his arm and shoulder bulge. He stopped struggling abruptly.

"Pick up that chair," Alleyn ordered sharply. Nigel, who had hovered impotently on the outskirts of the battle, set the heavy swivel chair on its feet.

"Let him down gently. You'll be all right, Mr. Saint. Open those windows, one of you."

Saint lay back in the chair. His face was purple and his breathing terribly distressed. Alleyn took off his tie, and unfastened his collar. The pulse in his neck throbbed laboriously. Alleyn loosened his clothes and stood looking at him. Then he turned to the desk telephone and dialled a number.

"Yard? Chief Inspector Alleyn. Get the divisional surgeon to come round to the Unicorn Theatre at once. Heart attack, tell him. Got that? Upstairs. The constable at the door will show him. At once. Thank you." He put the receiver down.

"You'd better go outside, I think," said Alleyn. "He wants to be quiet. Fox, will you wait here?"

The three detectives filed out quietly. Fox stood still. Nigel walked over to the darkest corner and sat down, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Heart attack?" asked Fox quietly.

"Evidently. He'll do though, I fancy." They looked in silence at the empurpled face. Alleyn switched on an electric fan and moved it across the desk. Saint's thin hair was blown sideways. He opened his eyes. They were terribly bloodshot.

"Don't try to talk," said Alleyn. "A doctor will be here in a moment."

He pulled forward another chair, put Saint's feet on it, and then moved him a little, until he was almost lying flat. He did all this very quickly and efficiently, lifting the huge bulk without apparent effort. Then he moved across to the window. Nigel saw that he held the piece of paper. Alleyn leant out of the window, looked at it, and then put it in his pocket.

The room was very silent. Saint was breathing more easily. Presently he gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes again. Fox walked over to Alleyn, who spoke to him in a low voice. The electric fan made a high, thrumming noise and blandly turned from side to side. Saint's hair blew out in fine strands, fell, and blew out again, regularly. Nigel stared at Saint's heavy face, and wondered if it was the face of a murderer.