"Rosa! She's not hurt, is she?"
"No, sir. But she's upset."
"What the devil is she upset about?"
"The accident. She's practically useless. We shall never persuade her to sing again to-night."
"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."