"Let Gluckstein take the women in, and telephone to the Police Station," the manager suggested.
Mrs. Astley-Rolfe raised her bloodless face.
"Yes, yes," she sobbed. "Let me go. It's too horrible. I can't bear it."
Tranter raised her up. The danseuse had recovered consciousness, and was crying hysterically. Suddenly the financier startled them in a thin high voice, pointing a shaking finger into the darkness.
"Someone ith moving! Out there behind uth! Whoth there? Whoth there?"
They swung round, straining their eyes into the blackness.
"Who's there?" the manager called.
An answering voice reached them. The manager struck another match. On the edge of the darkness they saw an enormous figure.
"It's Monsieur Dupont!" Tranter cried.
"My friends," exclaimed Monsieur Dupont, "at last I find you! What is the matter?"