The Theatre Royal had been opened almost thirty years earlier by interested parties who formed a joint-stock company. What they got for their investment was a neat, rectangular structure with a Gothic facade whose plethora of arched windows gave it an inappropriately ecclesiastical air. Striking in appearance, it was not, however, known for its comfort and its interior lacked the sheer scope, luxury and embellishment of London theatres. Nigel Buckmaster made light of its deficiencies, confident that the brilliance of his performance would divert the minds of any audience from the hardness of the seats. He was reeling off some instructions to his stage manager when he was interrupted by Robert Colbeck. Hearing why the inspector had come, he immediately conducted him to the main dressing room at the rear of the stage.

Gas lighting gave the room a garish glow and created shifting patterns in the mirrors. Colbeck noticed that the actor's costume for Macbeth was already hanging up. A dirk and claymore lay on the table beside a large make-up box. Buckmaster waved him to a seat but remained standing in a position where the best of the light fell upon his face.

'I'd hoped to speak to Miss Linnane as well,' said Colbeck, 'but I was told that she was indisposed.'

'This hideous business at the hotel unnerved her,' explained Buckmaster, 'so she took to her bed. Kate – Miss Linnane – is a sensitive creature. It's ironic. Tomorrow, as Lady Macbeth, she'll urge me to slaughter the King of Scotland and she'll be utterly merciless in doing so. Yet when a real murder takes place so close to her, she is quite unable to cope with it. I, on the other hand,' he said, thrusting out his chin, 'am made of sterner stuff.'