Howlett’s eyes twinkled. Having seen him onstage, Paul knew what a brilliant actor he’d been in his day but age had played havoc with his memory and he was largely unemployable. The table in the corner was now a platform where he was able to recreate the performances of earlier years for anyone kind enough to listen. Patrons of the tavern all knew and respected Simeon Howlett but few of them ever took a seat beside him. It was the reason he was so grateful to Paul.

‘Dare I ask about Miss Granville?’ he ventured.

‘She is in good spirits.’

‘Good spirits and deserved hands, I feel. Had I been younger, of course, I’d have had the delights that you enjoy. Time has robbed me of so many treasures.’

‘You still have your health and your sense of humour.’

‘I’d trade both in return for more teeth.’

‘And your reputation as an actor is still intact.’

‘What use is reputation if it doesn’t bring in any work? However,’ he went on, ‘I won’t burden you with my worries. What brings you here today?’

‘I’m hoping that you can help me, Mr Howlett.’

‘Not if it’s money you’re after. My funds are precariously low. I can give you a speech from the Bard,’ he said, brightening, ‘though I can only remember those with no more than eight or ten lines.’

‘I’m here to talk about a murder.’

‘Which play do you have in mind – Othello, King Lear, Hamlet? Each one has murders galore and the Roman plays are nothing but orgies of assassination.’

‘This murder occurred in the alleyway close by.’

Howlett chortled. ‘Oh, many a lively time I had there in younger days with willing wenches who raised their skirts and bade me enter Elysium. That alleyway could tell some stories, I warrant you.’

‘A man was stabbed to death there yesterday,’ said Paul. ‘I’m told that he may well have been an actor.’

‘Then he must have committed suicide. It’s an exit from this abominable profession that I’ve oft considered. I’d stab myself to death like a demented Julius Caesar. Et tu, Simeon would be the last line I ever uttered.’

‘I’m being serious.’

‘So am I, dear boy.’

‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘Wait,’ said the old man as Paul rose to go, ‘do sit down again. I remember now. There was blood everywhere, I’m told. His wonderful costume must have been ruined.’ Paul lowered himself down again. ‘I was shocked, Mr Skillen. We all were, even though we are well acquainted with hideous sights here in Covent Garden. To lose one of our own in such a fashion was blood-curdling.’

‘He was an actor, then?’

‘Who else would frequent this fleapit?’

‘Do you know his name?’

‘I can find it for you. Give me an hour or two, Mr Skillen.’