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 Nail 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 space 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