Late as it was, Padini had not gone to bed; indeed, one of the corridor servants informed Rigby that the violinist had been practicing on his violin for the past hour. Without the slightest hesitation, Rigby made his way into Padini's room. The latter looked up with a puzzled air of surprise; evidently he had been taking a little more champagne than was good for him.
"I seem to know your face," he said. "Of course you do," Rigby said smoothly. "Don't you remember me interviewing you for the Planet? I happened to be in the hotel, and I thought I would look you up. I suppose it would be too much to ask you to play something to me? I am passionately fond of music, to say nothing of being a great admirer of yours. Besides, I have a particular desire to hear you to-night."
Padini looked up with just a shade of suspicion in his eyes. Rigby felt that perhaps he was going a bit too far. He proceeded to flatter the artist to such an extent, that Padini's suspicions were quickly lulled to rest. There was a half-empty bottle of champagne on the table, but Rigby refused the proffered hospitality.
"No, thank you," he said. "I came to hear you play. I know it was a great liberty on my part and, if you like, you can turn me out at once; but I wish you would play something."
Padini rose rather unsteadily, and reached for his violin. Once his fingers grasped the neck of his instrument, he seemed to be himself again. Rascal as the fellow was, there was no doubt of his great artistic qualities. He handled his bow with the air and grip of a master. He started some slow movement from one of Beethoven's sonatas, and Rigby lay back in his chair, giving himself up entirely to the delight of the moment.
It seemed, if Padini once started, he would not know when to stop, for he played one piece after another, entirely forgetting that he had an audience. Across Rigby's brain there came floating the germ of a great idea. Padini finished a brilliant passage, and the bow fell from his hands.
"There, my friend," he said breathlessly. "Never have I played better than I have done to-night."
"You are indeed a master," Rigby said, and he meant every word that he uttered. "An artist so great as yourself should be a composer also. Have you published anything at all?"
The flattered artist replied that he had not published anything so far, but there were one or two little things which he had written in his spare time, and these he intended offering to some publisher who was prepared to pay a price for them.
"Would you mind playing me one?" Rigby asked. "I should prefer a piece that nobody has ever heard."