‘Very,’ Peregrine agreed nervously. ‘I haven’t seen them for a fortnight or more. I – I suppose they are safe. By and large. Safe,’ he repeated on a shriller note, as Macduff executed a downward sweep which Macbeth deflected and dodged by the narrowest of margins.

‘Absolutely,’ Gaston promised. ‘I stake my reputation upon it. Ah. Excuse me. Very well, gentlemen, call it a morning. Thank you. Don’t go, Mr Jay. Your remark about safety has reminded me. There will, of course, be no change in the size and position of the rostra? They are precisely where they will be for the performance?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. To the fraction of an inch, I hope? Their footwork has been rehearsed with the greatest care, you know. Like a dance. Let me show you.’

He produced a plan of the stage. It was extremely elaborate and was broken up into innumerable squares.

‘The stage is marked – I dare say you have noticed – in exactly the same way. Let me say I am asking the Macduff to deliver a downward sweep from right to left and the Macbeth is to parry it and leap to the lower level. I shall say – ‘ and here he raised his voice and shrieked: ‘Mac-d. Right foot at 13b. Raise claidheamh-mor – move to 90 degrees. Sweep to 12. Er-one. Er-two. Er-three. Meanwhile…’

He continued in this baffling manner for some seconds and then resumed in his normal bass: ‘So you will understand, Mr Jay, that the least inaccuracy in the squares might well lead to – shall we say? – to the bisection of the opponent’s foot. No. I exaggerate. The crushing would be more appropriate. And we would not want that to happen, would we?’

‘Certainly not. But my dear Gaston, please don’t misunderstand me. I think the plan is most ingenious and the result – er – breathtaking, but would it not be just as effective, for instance – ‘

He got no further. He saw the crimson flush rise in Gaston’s face.

‘Are you about to suggest that we employ a “fake”?’ Gaston demanded, and before Peregrine could reply said: ‘In which case I leave this theatre. For good. Taking with me the weapons and writing to The Times to point out the ludicrous aspects of the charade that will inevitably be foisted upon the audience. Well? Yes or no?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know which I mean but I implore you not to go waltzing out on us, Gaston. You tell me it’s safe and I accept your authority. I’ll get the insurance people to cover us,’ he added hurriedly. ‘You’ve no objection to that, I hope?’

Gaston waved his hand grandly and ambiguously. He went up on stage and collected the weapons which the users had put into felt containers.

‘I wish you good morning,’ he said. And, as an afterthought: ‘I will take charge of the claidheamh-mors, and will return them tomorrow. Again, good morning.’

‘Good morning, Gaston,’ Peregrine said thankfully.

III