“Why?” asked Nigel, astonished.

“There’s a sketch on the programme that I am anxious to see. Will you both come? We’ll only miss the first two numbers.”

“We’d love to,” said Angela. “Are you up to one of your tricks?” she added suspiciously.

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Angela. Bathgate, will you ring up for seats?”

They went to the Palladium and enjoyed themselves. Mr. Thoms’s sketch was the third number in the second half. It had not run three minutes before Nigel and Angela turned and stared owlishly at the inspector. The sketch was well cast and the actor who played the surgeon was particularly clever. Alleyn sensed a strange feeling of alertness in the audience. Here and there people murmured together. Behind them a man’s voice asked: “Wonder if Sir John Phillips goes to the Palladium?” “Ssh,” whispered a woman.

“The great British public twitching its nose,” thought Alleyn distastefully. The sketch drew to a close. The surgeon came back from the operating theatre, realistically bloody. A long-drawn “Ooooo” from the audience. He pulled off his mask, stood and stared at his gloved hands. He shuddered. A nurse entered up-stage. He turned to face her: “Well, nurse?” “He’s gone.” The surgeon walked across to a practical basin and began to wash his hands as a drop curtain, emblazoned with an enormous question-mark, was drawn down like a blind over the scene.

“So that’s why we came?” said Angela, and remained very quiet until the end of the show.

They had supper at Alleyn’s flat, where Angela was made a fuss of by Vassily.

“Curious coincidence, that little play, didn’t you think?” asked Alleyn.

“Very rum,” agreed Nigel. “When did you hear about it?”

“Thoms told me that he and Phillips discussed it before the operation. Thoms seemed so anxious not to talk about it I thought it might be worth seeing. I can’t help wondering if he meant to convey precisely that suggestion.”

“Had Sir John seen it?” inquired Angela.

“No. Thoms told him about it.”

“I say,” said Nigel. “Do you think that could have given Phillips the big idea?”

“It might be that.”

“Or it might be—something quite different,” Angela, watching him.

“I congratulate you, Miss Angela,” said Alleyn.

“Did Mr. Thoms tell you quite frankly about their conversation?”

“No, child, he didn’t. He flustered like an old hen.”

“And what did you deduce from that?” asked Angela innocently.

“Perhaps he was afraid of incriminating his distinguished colleague and senior.”

“Oh,” she said flatly. “What’s he like in other ways?”

“Besides being a bit of a buffoon? Well, I should say either rather forgetful or a bit of a liar. He says he came out of the theatre with Phillips after the latter had prepared the hyoscine injection. Phillips, matron and Banks say he didn’t.”

“Oh,” said Angela, “they do, do they.”