He was silent for a second or two and then went on: ‘This is a terrible thing that has happened. One would have said that our dear Sir Dougal had no enemies. I still can’t get myself round to – to – facing it and I dare say you can’t either. Of one thing we may all be sure: he would have wanted us to do what is best for the Dolphin.’

He sat down.

For a time nobody spoke. Then one bald and stout guardian whispered to another and a little pantomime of nods and portentous frowns passed round the table. The senior guardian, who was thin and had a gentle air, stood up.

‘I move,’ he said, ‘that we leave the matter in Mr Peregrine Jay’s hands and do so with our complete trust in his decision.’

‘Second that,’ said an intelligent Jewish guardian.

‘Those in favour? Unanimous,’ said the chairman.

CHAPTER 8
Development

‘I suppose I ought to be feeling all glowing and grateful,’ said Peregrine, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t. They are nice old boys all of them but they’re dab hands at passing the buck and making it look like a compliment.’

‘You’ve been given a completely free hand and if it turns out a dead failure you’ll find yourself out on a limb and all of them saying, ever so delicately, that they felt at the time the decision was a mistaken one,’ Alleyn observed.

‘That’s right.’

‘If it’s any comfort, which it isn’t, I’m familiar with these tactics.’

‘Why don’t we leave them to make the decision? Why don’t I say I feel it would be better, in the circumstances, for somebody less intimately concerned with the Dolphin to produce the next show? God knows, it’d be true.’

‘Yes?’

‘But I’d feel I was ratting.’ He dug his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m fond of them. We’ve taken a journey together and come out on the golden sands. We’ve found Macbeth. It’s a marvellous feeling. Or was. Are you any further on?’

‘A little, I think. Not enough, not anything like enough, to think of an arrest.’

Peregrine’s fingers had been playing with something in his pocket. They closed round it and fetched it out, a dilapidated little figure, jet black, flourishing a bent weapon behind its shoulder.

‘Where did you find that?’ Alleyn asked.

‘It’s one of my boy’s toy soldiers – a Crusader. William found it.’

‘William?’