‘Gas!’ Parry Percival said under his breath. Martyn, who thought the doctor was going well, glanced indignantly at Parry and was astonished to see that he looked frightened.

‘ “—therefore”,’ the doctor was saying arrogantly, ‘ “to beg will not become me—” ’

‘Gas!’ said an imperative voice off-stage and someone else ran noisily round the back of the set.

And then Martyn smelt it. Gas.

To the actors it seemed afterwards as if they had been fantastically slow to understand that disaster had come upon the theatre. The curtain went down on Dr Rutherford’s last word. There was a further outbreak of applause. Someone off-stage shouted: ‘The King, for God’s sake,’ and at once the anthem rolled out disinterestedly in the well. Poole ran off the stage and was met by Clem Smith who had a bunch of keys in his hand. The rest followed him

The area back-stage reeked of gas.

It was extraordinary how little was said. The players stood together and looked about them with the question in their faces that they were unable to ask.

Poole said: ‘Keep all visitors out, Clem. Send them to the foyer.’ And at once the ASM spoke into the prompt telephone. Bob Grantley burst through the pass-door, beaming from ear to ear.

‘Stupendous!’ he shouted. ‘John! Ella! Adam! My God, chaps, you’ve done it—’

He stood, stock-still, his arms extended, the smile dying on his face.

‘Go back, Bob,’ Poole said. ‘Cope with the people. Ask our guests to go on and not wait for us. Ben’s ill. Clem: get all available doors open. We want air.’

Grantley said: ‘Gas?’

‘Quick,’ Poole said. ‘Take them with you. Settle them down and explain. He’s ill. Then ring me here. But quickly, Bob. Quickly.’

Grantley went out without another word.

‘Where is he?’ Dr Rutherford demanded.

Helena Hamilton suddenly said: ‘Adam?’

‘Go on to the stage, Ella. It’s better you shouldn’t be here, believe me. Kate will stay with you. I’ll come in a moment.’

‘Here you are, Doctor,’ said Clem Smith.

There was a blundering sound in the direction of the passage. Rutherford said, ‘Open the dock doors,’ and went behind the set.

Poole thrust Helena through the prompt entry and shut the door behind her. Draughts of cold air came through the side entrances.

‘Kate,’ Poole said, ‘go in and keep her there if you can. Will you? And, Kate—’

Rutherford reappeared and with him four stage-hands bearing with difficulty the inert body of Clark Bennington, the head swinging upside down between the two leaders, its mouth wide open. Poole moved quickly but he was too late to shield Martyn. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Go in with Helena.’

‘Anyone here done respiration for gassed cases?’ Dr Rutherford demanded. ‘I can start but I’m not good for long.’

‘I can,’ said the ASM. ‘I was a warden.’

‘I can,’ said Jacko.

‘And I,’ said Poole.