Alleyn found Fox in the greenroom. ‘Finished?’ he asked.

‘I’ve got all the statements. Except, of course, your lot. They’re not conspicuously helpful. There’s one item that the King noticed. He says – hold on – here we are. He says he noticed that Sears was wheezing while he waited with them before the final entry. He said something about it and Sears tapped his own chest and frowned. He made a solemn thing with his eyebrows. “Asthma, dear boy, asthma. No matter.” Can’t you see him doing it?’

‘Yes. Vincent Crummles stuff. He must have found that massive claidheamh-mor a bit of a burden.’

‘What I thought. Poor devil. Here comes the Management. We’ll hand over.’

They put the statements in a briefcase and settled themselves inconspicuously at the back of the room.

The Management came through the auditorium and on stage by way of the Prompt-box and thence to the greenroom. They looked preternaturally solemn. The senior guardian was in the middle and Winter Morris at the far side. They sat down behind the table.

‘I’m afraid,’ said the senior guardian, ‘there are not enough chairs for everybody but please use the ones that are available. Oh, here are some more.’

Stagehands brought chairs from the dressing-rooms. There was a certain amount of politeness. Three ladies occupied the sofa. Simon Morten stood behind Maggie. She turned to speak to him. He put his hand on her shoulder and leant over her with a possessive air. Gaston Sears stood apart with folded arms, pale face and dark suit, like a phoney figurehead got up for the occasion. William and his mother had appeared and were at the back of the room. Bruce Barrabell occupied an armchair. Rangi and his girls were together by the doorway.

And in the back of the room, quietly side by side, sat Alleyn and Fox, who would sooner or later, it must be assumed, remove one of the company, having charged him with the murder by decapitation of their leading man.