‘Your husband himself—’ Alleyn began and she caught him up quickly. ‘Ben? Ah, I can believe that. I can believe he would boast of it. To one of the men. To J.G.? Was it J.G.? Or perhaps even to Gay?’

Alleyn said gently: ‘You must know I can’t answer questions like these.’

‘It was never Jacko,’ she repeated positively and he said: ‘I haven’t interviewed Mr Doré yet.’

‘Haven’t you? Good.’

‘Did you like Otto Brod?’

She smiled slightly and lifted herself in her chair. Her face became secret and brilliant. ‘For a little while,’ she said, ‘he was a fortunate man.’

‘Fortunate?’

‘For a little while I loved him.’

‘Fortunate indeed,’ said Alleyn.

‘You put that very civilly, Mr Alleyn.’

‘Do you think there was some connection here? I mean between your relationship with Brod and the apparent threat when your husband showed you the letter?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think Ben realized. It was as brief as summer lightning, our affair.’

‘On both parts?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said as if he had asked a foolish question. ‘Otto was very young, rather violent and dreadfully faithful, poor sweet. You are looking at me in an equivocal manner, Mr Alleyn. Do you disapprove?’

Alleyn said formally: ‘Let us say that I am quite out of my depth with—’

‘Why do you hesitate? With what?’

‘I was going to say with a femme fatale.’ said Alleyn.

‘Have I been complimented again?’

He didn’t answer and after a moment she turned away as if she suddenly lost heart in some unguessed-at object she had had in mind.

‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘I may not ask you why you believe Ben was murdered?’

‘I think you may. For one reason: his last act in the dressing-room was not consistent with suicide. He refurbished his make-up.’

‘That’s penetrating of you,’ she said. ‘It was an unsympathetic makeup. But I still believe he killed himself. He had much to regret and nothing in the wide world to look forward to. Except discomfiture.’

‘The performance tonight, among other things, to regret?’

‘Among all the other things. The change in casting, for one. It may have upset him very much. Because yesterday he thought he’d stopped what he called John’s nonsense about Gay. And there was his own behaviour, his hopeless, hopeless degradation. He had given up, Mr Alleyn. Believe me he had quite given up. You will find I’m right, I promise you.’

‘I wish I may,’ Alleyn said. ‘And I think that’s all at the moment. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on with my job.’

‘Get on with it, then,’ she said and looked amused. She watched him go and he wondered after he had shut the door if her expression had changed.