‘If you don’t mind I’d rather not go into details.’

‘Why?’

‘We said we wouldn’t talk about them. We promised Perry.’

‘I’ll ask Jay to elucidate.’

‘Yes. Well, don’t let him think I blew the gaff, will you?’

‘No.’

‘If you don’t want me any more…?’

‘I don’t think I do. We’ll ask you to sign a typed statement later on.’

‘I see. Well, thank you,’ said Simon and got up. ‘You did mean what you said? About it being impossible for me to have – done it?’

‘Yes. Unless some sort of crack appears, I mean it.’

‘Thank God for that, at least,’ said Simon. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night, Mr Morten.’

He went to the door, hesitated and spoke.

‘If I’d wanted to kill him,’ he said, ‘I could have faked it during the fight. And been “terribly sorry”. You know?’

‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘There’s that, too, isn’t there? Good night.’

When he had gone, Fox said: ‘That’s one we can tick off, isn’t it?’

‘At this point, Fox.’

‘He doesn’t seem to have liked the deceased much, does he?’

‘Not madly keen, no. But very honest about it as far as it went. He was on the edge of talking about the superstitions but pulled himself up short and said Jay extracted promises not to gossip about the aspect.’

‘That’s right. So who do you see next?’

‘Obviously, Peregrine Jay.’

‘He was here twenty years ago, at the time of the former case. Nice young chap he was then.’

‘Yes. He’s in conference. Up in the offices,’ said Alleyn.

‘Shall I pluck him out?’

‘Would you?’

Fox removed his spectacles, put them in his breast pocket and left the room. Alleyn walked about, muttering to himself.

‘It must have been then. After the fight. Say, one minute for the pause and the pipe and drums coming nearer, two at the outside. The general entry: say a quarter of a minute, Siward’s dialogue about his son’s death. Another two minutes. Say three to four minutes all told. Macbeth exits and yells. Macduff says something that makes him stoop or – no – he did fall forward to give the thud. The man, having removed the dummy head, decapitates him, gathers up the real head and jams it on the claidheamh-mor. That’s what takes the time. Does he wedge the hilts against the scenery and then push the head on? He lugs the body into the darkest corner and stands the claidheamh-mor in its place ready for Gaston to grasp it. He puts the dummy head by the body. And that’s it. Where does he go now? What does he look like?’

He stopped short, closed his eyes and recalled the fight. The two figures. The exchange of dialogue and Macbeth’s hoarse final curse.

‘And damned be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”’

‘It must have been done after the fight. There’s no other way. Or is there? Is there? Nonsense.’

The door opened. Fox, Winter Morris and Peregrine came in.