Gantry turned white round the mouth. ‘I don’t like this sort of thing,’ he said. ‘ I’ve produced it often enough, but I’ve never faced the reality.’ And he added with sudden violence: ‘Cover her up yourself.’

‘All right. All right,’ sighed Dr Harkness. He took the sheet, crossed the room and busied himself with masking the body. The breeze from the open windows moved it as if, fantastically, it was stirred by what it covered.

‘May as well shut them, now,’ Dr Harkness said and did so. ‘Can you straighten the bed at least?’ he asked. Gantry did his best with the bed.

‘Right,’ said Dr Harkness, putting on his coat. ‘Does this door lock? Yes. Will you come?’

As they went out Gantry said: ‘Warrender’s crocked up. Charles didn’t seem to want him, so he flung a sort of poker-backed, stiff-lipped, blimp-type temperament and made his exit. I don’t know where he’s gone, but in his way,’ Gantry said, ‘he’s wonderful. Terrifyingly ham, but wonderful. He’s upset, though.’

‘Serve him bloody well right. It won’t be his fault if I escape pneumonia. My head!‘ Dr Harkness said, momentarily closing his eyes.

‘You were high.’

‘Not so high I couldn’t come down.’

Old Ninn was on the landing. Her face had bleached round its isolated patches of crimson. She confronted Dr Harkness.

‘What’s she done to herself?’ asked Old Ninn.

Dr Harkness once more summoned up his professional manner. He bent over her. ‘You’ve got to be very sensible and good, Nanny,’ he said, and told her briefly what had happened.

She looked fixedly into his face throughout the recital and at the end said: ‘Where’s Mr Templeton?’

Dr Harkness indicated the dressing-room.

‘Who’s looking after him?’

‘Florence was getting him a hot bottle.’

‘Her!’ Ninn said with a brief snort, and without another word stumped to the door. She gave it a smart rap and let herself in.

‘Wonderful character,’ Gantry murmured.

‘Remarkable.’

They turned towards the stairs. As they did so a figure moved out of the shadows at the end of the landing, but they did not notice her. It was Florence.

‘And now, I suppose,’ Dr Harkness said as they went downstairs, ‘for the mob.’

‘Get rid of them?’ Gantry asked.

‘Not yet. They’re meant to wait. Police orders.’

‘But …’

‘Matter of form.’

Gantry said: ‘At least we can boot the Press off, can’t we?’

‘Great grief, I’d forgotten that gang!’

‘Leave them to me.’

The Press was collected about the hall. A light flashed as Gantry and Harkness came down and a young man who had evidently just arrived, advanced hopefully. ‘Mr Timon Gantry? I wonder if you could –’

Gantry looking down from his great height, said: ‘I throw you one item. And one only. Miss Mary Bellamy was taken ill this evening and died some minutes ago.’

‘Doctor – er … Could you – ?’