“ ‘I’ll get you, Carruthers,’ ” quoted Alleyn, with an uncannily just rendering of Surbonadier’s thick voice. “ ‘I’ll get you, and just when you least expect it!’ ”

“Good Lord, Alleyn, what a memory you’ve got!” said Nigel, very startled.

“I’ve never before seen anything on the stage that impressed me so deeply.”

“All carried away like,” jibed Nigel, but Alleyn refused to laugh.

“It was uncanny,” he said. “The atmosphere of the dressing-room intensified on the stage. Intensified and bigger than life, like emotion in a nightmare. And then he said: ‘You think I’m bluffing, playing a part, don’t you?’ And ‘Carruthers’—Gardener, you know — said: ‘I think you’re bluffing, Beaver — yes. But if you’re not — lookout!’ ”

“You’re a damn’ good mimic, inspector.”

“Clap-trap stuff it is really,” said Alleyn uneasily.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know. Got the ooble-boobles. Let’s have a drink.”

They went to the bar. The inspector was very silent and read his programme. Nigel looked at his curiously. He felt apologetic about the horribly uncomfortable scene in the dressing-room and wondered very much what was brewing between Gardener, Surbonadier and Miss Vaughan.

“I suppose old Felix has cut that bounder out?” he ventured.

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “Oh, yes — that, of course.” The warning bell set up its intolerable racket. “Come on,” said Alleyn. “Don’t let’s miss any of it.” He fidgeted while Nigel finished his drink, and led the way back to their stalls.

“The supper-party won’t be much fun, I’m afraid,” said Nigel.

“Oh — the supper-party. Perhaps it’ll be off.”

“Perhaps. What’ll we do if it’s on? Apologize and get out?”

“Wait and see.”

“Helpful suggestion!”

“I don’t think the supper-party will happen.”

“Here she goes,” remarked Nigel, as the lights slowly died away, leaving the auditorium in thick-populated darkness.