As she got no answer to her knocking she followed her usual course when uncertain, or embarrassed—abrupt action. In this instance she simply opened the door and stepped in. She did this in exactly the way she often spoke when she had no intention of speaking. A man turned from a window where he was leaning looking down into the crowded street watching the people flooding to “The Blue Bird.” He was a youngish man with nice lines around his eyes, smiling lines. But the eyes were very keen. Whether he was truly the manager or not Kate never learned, but he was manager enough for her purposes. She told him her grievance. He listened respectfully without a word until she had finished. Then, still without a word to her, he took up a telephone instrument from his desk and spoke briskly into it: “Box office, any seats left?” he asked. “Good, that’s fine. Give the young lady who was at your window a minute ago one in the lower left.” He hung up and turned to Kate.
“The house is sold out,” he informed her in a voice that was fairly jubilant. “And they said it couldn’t be done in the States in summer!” She felt that he wanted to dance and was constrained only by her presence. “All except a few box seats. They come too high. You can get yours now at the office all right. I’ve fixed it.”
But Kate did not move to go. “There are three of us,” she explained. “We have to stay together. We are with a chaperon. You hung up before I could tell you.”
The manager was dashed. He had expected gratitude. “With a chaperon? Why isn’t she here fixing things instead of you, then?” he asked with reason.
“Well, she didn’t like to. She was willing to sit behind the post. She’s really my cousin’s maid, but my aunt lets her chaperon us.”
“Oh, I see.” There was something of humorous admiration in the manager’s voice now. He liked Kate’s spirit. He snatched up the telephone again. “Three seats for that lady just mentioned,” he commanded into it. “Front ones.”
Then Kate did thank him and smiled—her peculiar, charming smile. He responded to it with a beam of his own. But her last words were, “It was a cheat, wasn’t it, selling that post seat to anybody.”
His reply was simply “Rather!” as he held the door for her. She had read enough to know by his use of that word that he was English. He had spoken his “rather” in the most natural, sincere way possible.
The box-office man eyed her with respect. “Never thought you’d turn the trick,” he said, admiringly. But Kate did not deign to answer. Suddenly she felt her conspicuousness too keenly. She took the tickets he offered her and fled away up the stairs, not looking at any one.
In the upper foyer the detective was on the watch for her. He sighed with relief when she appeared and vanished again through the swinging doors into the balcony. Well, his “party” was safe now until after the play. It was unfortunate that he had not been able to secure a seat inside where he could keep his eye on them directly. When the curtain went up he would slip in and stand in the back, of course. After all, things were pretty satisfactory. They certainly couldn’t escape his attention now. So far their doings had been innocent enough, all except that little excursion of the bobbed-haired one. Had she taken a note to someone? Perhaps he had been foolish not to follow her.