The roundabout had come to a standstill. Around it, at a decent distance, stood a dark circle of folk. But its lights still blazed, its mirrors still twinkled. She could detect nothing amiss.
What had happened? Tilda had forgotten Miss Sally, and was anxious now but for Arthur Miles. A dozen fears suggested themselves. She ought never to have left him. . . .
She dropped from the hedge into the field, and ran downhill to the platform. It stood deserted, the last few fairy-lamps dying down amid the palms and greenery. In the darkness at its rear there was no need of caution, and she plunged under the vallance boldly.
"Arthur! Arthur Miles! Are you all right? . . . Where are you?"
A thin squeal answered her, and she drew back, her skin contracting in a shudder, even to the roots of her hair. For, putting out her hand, she had touched flesh—naked, human flesh.
"Wh—who are you?" she stammered, drawing back her fingers.
"I'm the Fat Lady," quavered a voice. "Oh, help me! I'm wedged here and can't move!"
CHAPTER XV.
ADVENTURE OF THE FAT LADY.
"Gin a body meet a body."—BURNS.