Kenneth, saturated, Alleyn gathered, in a rising flood of well-being, had paused at the entry into the Mithraeum and idly watched Mailer. Having got so far in his narrative he ran the tip of his tongue round his lips and, eyeing Alleyn with what actually seemed to be a kind of relish, said:

‘Surprise, surprise.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw it. Again. The same as what the Jason dolly saw. You know. The shadow.’

‘Violetta’s.’

‘Across the thing. You know. The sarcophagus.’

‘Then you saw her?’

‘No, I didn’t. I suppose he was between. I don’t know. I was high. There’s a kind of buttress thing juts out. Anyway I was high.’

‘So high, perhaps, that you imagined the whole thing.’

‘No,’ Kenneth said loudly. ‘No.’

‘And then?’

‘I went into that marvellous place. The temple or whatever. There you were. All of you. On about the god. And the great grinning Baroness lining us up for a team-photograph. And all the time,’ Kenneth said excitedly, ‘all the time just round the corner, Seb was strangling the postcard woman. Wouldn’t it send you!’ He burst out laughing.

Alleyn looked at him. ‘You can’t always have been as bad as this,’ he said. ‘Or are you simply a born, stupid, unalterable monster? How big a hand has Mailer taken with his H. and C. and his thoughtful ever-ready ampoule of distilled water in the making of the product?’

Kenneth’s smile still hung about his mouth even as he began to whimper.

‘Shut up,’ Alleyn said mildly. ‘Don’t do that. Pull yourself together if you can.’

‘I’m a spoilt boy. I know that. I never had a chance. I was spoilt.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-three. Someone like you could have helped me. Truly.’

‘Did you get any idea of why Mailer didn’t go into the Mithraeum with you? Was he expecting to meet the woman?’

‘No. No, I’m sure he wasn’t,’ Kenneth said eagerly, gazing at Alleyn. ‘I’m telling the truth,’ he added with a dreadful imitation of a chidden little boy. ‘I’m trying to be good. And I’ll tell you something else. To show.’

‘Go on.’

‘He told me why he wouldn’t come in.’

‘Why?’

‘He had a date. With someone else.’

‘Who?’

‘He didn’t say. I’d tell you if I knew. He didn’t say. But he had a date. Down there in that place. He told me.’

The telephone rang.

When Alleyn answered it he received an oddly familiar sensation: an open silence broken by the distant and hollow closure of a door, a suggestion of space and emptiness. He was not altogether surprised when a rich voice asked: ‘Would this be Mr Alleyn?’

‘It would, Father.’

‘You mentioned this morning where you were to be found. Are you alone, now?’

‘No.’