‘This is the weapon carried by Seyton?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s bloodied, of course.’

‘Yes. It would be anyway. And with false blood too. There’s false blood over everything. But –’ Masters shuddered – ‘they’re mixed.’

‘Where’s the false head?’

‘The false –? I don’t know. We haven’t looked.’

Alleyn walked into the OP corner. It was encircled with scenery masking pieces and very dark. He waited for his eyes to adapt. In the darkest corner, on the stage, a man’s form slowly assembled itself, its head face down. Its head?

He moved towards it, stooped down and touched the head. It shifted under his fingers. It was the dummy. He touched the body. It was flesh – and blood. And dead. And headless.

Alleyn moved back and returned to the stage.

There was a loud knocking on the stage door.

‘I’ll go,’ said Masters.

It was the Yard. Inspector Fox and Sergeants Bailey and Thompson. Fox was the regular, old-style, plain-clothes man: grizzled, amiable and implacable.

He said: ‘Visiting your old haunts, are you, sir?’

‘Nearly twenty years ago, isn’t it, Br’er Fox? And you two. I want you to give the full treatment, photos, prints, the lot, to that head on stage there, covered up, and the headless body in the dark corner over there. They parted company just before the final curtain. All right? And the dummy head in the corner. The assumed weapon is the claymore on which the real head’s fixed, so include that in the party. Any more staff coming?’

‘Couple of uniform coppers. Any moment now.’

‘Good. Front doors and stage door for them. On guard.’

He turned to Masters. ‘We’ll need to know who to inform. Can you help?’

‘There’s his divorced wife. No children. Winty may know. Mr Winter Morris.’

‘He’s still here?’ Alleyn exclaimed.

‘In the office. With Peregrine Jay. Discussing what we’re to do.’

‘Ah yes. You’ve got tomorrow, Sunday, to make up your minds.’

He looked at the stage crew. ‘You’ve had a bit of a job. Which of you is responsible for the properties?’

Props made an awkward movement.

‘You are? I’m afraid I must ask you to wait a little longer. The foreman? I’m sorry but you and you three men will have to wait, too. There’s no need for you to remain on stage any longer. Thank you.’ The men moved off into the shadows.

Bailey and Thompson assembled their gear.

‘You’ll want the lights man, won’t you?’ Alleyn said. ‘Is he here?’

‘Here,’ said the lights man, who was with Charlie, the assistant stage manager.

‘Right! I’ll leave you to it. Don’t touch anything.’ And to Masters: ‘Where does Mr Gaston Sears dress?’

‘I’ll show you,’ said Masters.