Dr Rutherford growled inarticulately and went out. They heard him open and shut the dock doors. Poole sat down by Helena and took her hands in his. Martyn was going but he looked up at her and said: ‘No, don’t. Don’t go, Kate,’ and she waited near the door.

‘This is no time,’ Poole said, ‘to speculate. He may be saved. If he isn’t, then we shall of course ask ourselves just why. But he was in a bad way, Ella. He’d gone to pieces and he knew it.’

‘I wasn’t much help,’ she said, ‘was I? Though it’s true to say I did try for quite a long time.’

‘Indeed you did. There’s one thing you must be told. If it’s no go with Ben, we’ll have to inform the police.’

She put her hand to her forehead as if she was puzzled. ‘The police?’ she repeated and stared at him. ‘No, darling, no!’ she cried and after a moment whispered. ‘They might think—oh, darling, darling, darling, the Lord knows what they think!’

The door up-stage opened and Gay Gainsford came in, followed by Darcey.

She was in her street clothes and at some time during the evening had made extensive repairs to her face which wore, at the moment, an expression oddly compounded of triumph and distraction. Before she could speak she was seized with a paroxysm of coughing.

Darcey said: ‘Is it all right for Gay to wait here?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Helena.

He went out and Poole followed him saying he would return.

‘Darling,’ Miss Gainsford gasped. ‘I knew. I knew as soon as I smelt it. There’s a Thing in this theatre. Everything pointed to it. I just sat there and knew.’ She coughed again. ‘Oh I do feel so sick,’ she said.

‘Gay for pity’s sake what are you talking about?’ Helena said.

‘It was Fate, I felt. I wasn’t a bit surprised. I just knew something had to happen tonight.’

‘Do you mean to say,’ Helena murmured, and the wraith of her gift for irony was on her mouth, ‘that you just sat in the greenroom with your finger raised, telling yourself it was Fate?’

‘Darling Aunty—I’m sorry. I forgot—darling, Ella, wasn’t it amazing?’

Helena made a little gesture of defeat. Miss Gainsford looked at her for a moment and then, with the prettiest air of compassion, knelt at her feet. ‘Sweet,’ she said, ‘I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. We’re together in this, aren’t we? He was my uncle and your husband.’

‘True enough,’ said Helena. She looked at Martyn over the head bent in devoted commiseration, and shook her own helplessly. Gay Gainsford sank into a sitting posture and leant her cheek against Helena’s hand. The hand, after a courteous interval, was withdrawn.