"It seems to me that the collaborators should go together."

"Of course. It's still early, but we may as well start. The theater's pulling at me--pulling!"

"My wife's quite strung up!" said Claude, smiling.

"And Claude is disgustingly cool!" said Charmian.

Gillier looked hard at Claude, and Charmian thought she detected admiration in his eyes.

"Men need to be cool when the critical moment is at hand," he remarked.

"I learned that long ago in Algeria."

"Then you are not nervous now?"

"Nerves are for women!" he returned.

But the expression in his face belied his words.

"Claude is cooler than he is!" Charmian thought.

She went to put on her hat and her sealskin coat. She longed, yet dreaded to start.

When they arrived at the stage-door of the Opera House the dark young man came from his office on the right with his hands full of letters, and, smiling, distributed them to Charmian, Claude and Gillier.

"It will be a go!" he said, in a clear voice. "Everyone says so. Mr.

Crayford is up in his office. He wants to see Mr. Heath. There's the elevator!"

At this moment the lift appeared, sinking from the upper regions under the guidance of a smiling colored man.

"I'll come up with you, Claudie. Are you going on the stage, Monsieur Gillier?"

"No, madame, not yet. I must speak to Mademoiselle Mardon about the Ouled Nal scene."

People were hurrying in, looking preoccupied. In a small abode on the left, a little way from the outer door, an elderly man in uniform, with a square gray beard, sat staring out through a small window, with a cautious and important air.

Charmian and Claude stepped into the lift, holding their letters. As they shot up they both glanced hastily at the addresses.

"Nothing from Adelaide Shiffney!" said Charmian. "Have you got anything?"

"No."

"Then she can't be coming."

"It seems not."

"I--then we shan't have the verdict in advance."

The lift stopped, and they got out.

"If we had it would probably have been a wrong one," said Claude. "The only real verdict is the one the great public gives."

"Yes, of course. But, still--"

"Hulloh, little lady! So you're sticking to the ship till she's safe in port!"

Crayford met them in the doorway of his large and elaborately furnished sanctum.

"Come right in! There's a lot to talk about. Shut the door, Harry. Now, Mulworth, let's get to business. What is it that is wrong with the music to go with the Fakir scene?"

At six o'clock the rehearsal had not begun. At six-thirty it had not begun. The orchestra was there, sunk out of sight and filling the dimness with the sounds of tuning. But the great curtain was down. And from behind it came shouting voices, noises of steps, loud and persistent hammerings.

A very few people were scattered about in the huge s.p.a.ce which contained the stalls, some nondescript men, whispering to each other, or yawning and staring vaguely; and five or six women who looked more alert and vivacious. There was no one visible in the shrouded boxes. The lights were kept very low.

The sound of hammering continued and became louder. A sort of deadness and strange weariness seemed to brood in the air, as if the great monster were in a sinister and heavy mood, full of an almost malign lethargy. The orchestral players ceased from tuning their instruments, and talked together in their sunken habitation.

Seven o'clock struck in the clocks of New York. Just as the chimes died away, Mrs. Shiffney drew up at the stage-door in a smart white motor-car. She was accompanied by a very tall and big man, with a robust air of self-confidence, and a face that was clean-shaven and definitely American.

"I don't suppose they've begun yet," she said, as she got out and walked slowly across the pavement, warmly wrapped up in a marvellous black sable coat. "Have you got your card, Jonson?"

"Here!" said the big man in a big voice.

The dark young man came from his office. On seeing the big man he started, and looked impressed.

"Mr. Crayford here?" said the big man.

"I think he's on the stage."

"Could you be good enough to send him in my card? There's some writing on the back. And here's a note from this lady."

"Certainly, with pleasure," said the young man, with his cheerful smile.

"Come right into the office, if you will!"

"Hulloh!" said Crayford, a moment later to Claude. "Here's Mrs. Shiffney wants to be let in to the rehearsal! And whom with, d'you think?"

"Whom?" asked Claude quickly. "Not Madame Sennier?"

"Jonson Ramer."

"The financier?"

"Our biggest! My boy, you're booming! Old Jonson Ramer asking to come in to our rehearsal! We'll have that all over the States to-morrow morning.

Where's Cane?"

"I'll fetch him, sir!" said a thin boy standing by.

"Are you going to let them in?"

"Am I going to! Finnigan, go and take the lady and Mr. Ramer to any box they like. Ah, Cane! Here's something for you to let yourself out over!"