'I've done all that is needful,' assured the other. 'You will not be involved at all.'

'I am involved in anything that touches Westfield's Men,' asserted Firethorn, striking a favourite pose. 'Besides, how are you to hold the book for us if you are hauled off to answer magistrates? Do you see how it all comes back on me? It will severely injure my reputation as a great actor.'

Nicholas Bracewell heaved a sigh. He was mourning the death of a friend but Firethorn was riding roughshod over his feelings. There were times when even he found it hard to accommodate his master's tantrums. He addressed the immediate problem.

'Let us consider Love and Fortune?’ he suggested.

'Indeed, sir. An audience is expecting to see the play this very afternoon. It has always been popular with them.'

'And so it shall be again.'

'Without Will Fowler?'

'There is a solution.'

'There's no time to rewrite the piece,' said Firethorn dismissively. 'We could never unravel that plot at a morning's rehearsal. In any case, Edmund is in no condition to wrestle with such a task. The Armada play is putting him under great strain.'

'Edmund will not be needed.'

'Yet you say there is a solution?'

'Yes, master.'

'Will you raise Will Fowler from the dead, sir?'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'What riddle is this?'

'His name is Samuel Ruff.'

'Ruff!' bellowed Firethorn. 'That wretch who enticed you both into the Hope and Anchor?'

'He's an experienced player,' argued Nicholas. 'The equal of our own man in every way.'

'He could never learn the part in a couple of hours.'

'Samuel believes that he can. He is studying the role even now. I copied out the sides for him myself from the prompt book.'

'You take liberties, Nick,' warned Firethorn. 'Love and Fortune is our property. It is not for the eyes of strangers.'