Fenella interrupted. She rose hurriedly to her feet.
"I am afraid, after all, that you will have to excuse me," she declared, moving to a seat at the back of the box. "I do not think that I can stay here."
Sabatini nodded gravely.
"Perhaps you are right," he said. "For my own part, I, too, wish I had more faith in Starling. As a matter of fact, I have none. When they caught Crampton, one could sleep in one's bed; one knew. But this man Starling is a nervous wreck. Who knows what story he may tell—consciously or unconsciously—in his desperate attempts to clear himself? You see," he continued, looking at Arnold, "there are a great many of us to whom Mr. Rosario was personally, just at this moment, obnoxious."
Fenella swayed in her chair.
"I am going home," she murmured.
"As you will," Sabatini agreed. "Perhaps Mr. Chetwode will be so kind as to take you back? I have asked a friend to call here this evening."
She turned to Arnold.
"Do!" she pleaded. "I am fit for nothing else. You will come with me?"
Arnold was already standing with his coat upon his arm.