He found his way along the dressing-room passage and, guided by the murmur of voices, knocked at the last door. It was opened by Detective-Sergeant Packer, who came half through the door. He was a fine specimen, was Packer; tall, magnificently built, with a good head on him. When he saw Alleyn he came to attention.

“Sergeant Packer,” said Alleyn, “your inspector tells me I may come in here if I behave nicely. That all right?”

“Certainly, Chief Inspector,” said Packer smartly. Alleyn looked at him.

“We won’t bother about the ‘Chief Inspector,’” he murmured. “Can you come outside for a second?”

Packer at once stepped out and closed the door.

“Look here,” said Alleyn, “do those people in there realise I’m from the Yard?”

“I don’t think they do, sir. I heard them mention your name, but they didn’t seem to know.”

“Good. Leave ’em in outer darkness. Just any old Allen. I asked Inspector Wade to warn you, but I suppose he hasn’t had a chance. Miss Dacres, Miss Max, and Mr. Hambledon know, but they’ll keep quiet, I hope. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Splendid. Then just let me loose among ’em, Packer. I’ll do no harm, I promise you.”

“Harm, sir? I should say not. If you’ll excuse me mentioning it, sir, I’ve just read—”

“Have you? I’ll give you a copy for yourself. Now usher me in. And chidingly, Packer. Be severe with me.”

Detective-Sergeant Packer was a young officer. He looked at the tall figure of Chief-Inspector Alleyn and developed instant and acute hero-worship. “He looks like one of those swells in the English flicks,” he afterwards confided to his girl, “and he talks with a corker sort of voice. Not queeny, but just corker. I reckon he’s all right. Gosh, I reckon he’s a humdinger.”

Under a fearful oath of secrecy, long after there was any need for discretion, Packer described to his best girl the scene in the wardrobe-room.

“He said to me, kind of laughing—and he’s got a corking sort of laugh—he said: ‘Be severe with me, Packer.’ So I opened the door and, as he walked through, I said: ‘Move along in there, if you please, sir. And kindly obey instructions.’ Very stiff. And he walked in and he said: ‘Frightfully sorry, officer,’ in a real dude voice. ‘Frightfullah sorrah, officah’—only it sounded decent the way he said it. Not unnatural. Just English. ‘Frightfulla sorra—’ I can’t seem to get it.”

“And then what?” asked Packer’s best girl.