"Oh, damn!" Sir Cyril exclaimed. And then quite quietly: "Well, run
and tell 'em, then. Shove yourself in front of the curtain, my lad,
and make a speech. Say it's nothing serious, but just sufficient to
stop the performance. Apologize, grovel, flatter 'em, appeal to their
generosity--you know."

"Yes, Sir Cyril."

And Nolan disappeared on his mission of appeasing the audience.

We had traversed the flagged corridor. Sir Cyril opened a narrow door
at the end.

"Follow me," he called out. "This passage is quite dark, but quite
straight."

It was not a passage; it was a tunnel. I followed the sound of his
footsteps, my hands outstretched to feel a wall on either side. It
seemed a long way, but suddenly we stepped into twilight. There was a
flight of steps which we descended, and at the foot of the steps a
mutilated commissionaire, ornamented with medals, on guard.

"Where is Monsieur Alresca?" Sir Cyril demanded.

"Behind the back-cloth, where he fell, sir," answered the
commissionaire, saluting.

I hurried after Sir Cyril, and found myself amid a most extraordinary
scene of noise and confusion on the immense stage. The entire
personnel of the house seemed to be present: a crowd apparently