he auditorium, where to his
astonishment a good deal of electricity, at one penny three farthings
a unit, was blazing. Every seat in the narrow and high-pitched
gallery, where at the sides the knees of one spectator would be on a
level with the picture-hat of the spectator in the row beneath, had
a perfect and entire view of the proscenium opening. And Edward Henry
now proved this unprecedented fact by climbing to the topmost corner
seat and therefrom surveying the scene of which he was monarch. The
boxes were swathed in their new white dust-sheets; and likewise the
higgledy-piggledy stalls, not as yet screwed down to the floor, save
three or four stalls in the middle of the front row, from which the
sheet had been removed. On one of these seats, far off though it was,
he could descry a paper bag--probably containing sandwiches--and on
another a pair of gloves and a walking-stick. Several alert ladies
with sketch-books walked uneasily about in the aisles. The orchestra
was hidden in the well provided for it, and apparently murmuring
in its sleep. The magnificent drop-curtain, designed by Saracen
Givington, A.R.A., concealed the stage.

Suddenly Mr. Marrier and Carlo Trent appeared through the iron door
that gave communication--to initiates--between the wings and the
auditorium; they sat down in the stalls. And the curtain rose with a
violent swish, and disclosed the first "set" of "The Orient Pearl."

"What about that amber, Cosmo?" Mr. Marrier cried thickly, after a
pause, his mouth occupied with sandwich.

"There you are!" came the reply.

"Right!" said Mr. Marrier. "Strike!"

"Don't strike!" contradicted Carlo Trent.

"Strike, I tell you! We must get on with the second act." The voices
resounded queerly in the empty theatre.

The stage was invaded by scene-shifters before the curtain could
descend again.

Edward Henry heard a tripping step behind him. It was the faithful
typewriting girl.

"I say," he said. "Do you mind telling me what's going on here? It's
true that in the rush of more important business I'd almost forgotten
that a theatre is a place where they perform plays."

"It's the dress-rehearsal, Mr. Machin," said the woman, startled and
apologetic.

"But the dress-rehearsal was fixed for three o'clock," said he. "It
must have been finished three hours ago."

"I think they've only just done the first act," the woman breathed. "I
know they didn't begin till seven. Oh! Mr. Machin, of course it'