"It would be devilish awkward to alter the parts now, anyhow," said Randall.
"It's not to be thought of," declared Norman Knight firmly. "Why, I could hardly act—but anyhow it's much too late."
Father Brown had slipped forward and was standing outside the locked door listening.
"Is there no sound?" asked the manager anxiously; and then added in a lower voice: "Do you think she can have done herself in?"
"There is a certain sound," replied Father Brown calmly. "I should be inclined to deduce from the sound that she is engaged in breaking windows or looking-glasses, probably with her feet. No; I do not think there is much danger of her going on to destroy herself. Breaking looking-glasses with your feet is a very unusual prelude to suicide. If she had been a German, gone away to think quietly about metaphysics and weltschmerz, I should be all for breaking the door down. These Italians don't really die so easily; and are not liable to kill themselves in a rage. Somebody else, perhaps ... yes, possibly ... it might be well to take ordinary precautions if she comes out with a leap."
"So you're not in favour of forcing the door?" asked Mandeville.
"Not if you want her to act in your play," replied Father Brown. "If you do that, she'll raise the roof and refuse to stay in the place; if you leave her alone she'll probably come out from mere curiosity. If I were you, I should just leave somebody to guard the door, more or less, and trust to time for an hour or two."
"In that case," said Mandeville, "we can only get on with rehearsing the scenes where she doesn't appear. My wife will arrange all that is necessary for scenery just now. After all, the fourth act is the main business. You had better get on with that."
"Not a dress rehearsal," said Mandeville's wife to the others.
"Very well," said Knight, "not a dress rehearsal, of course. I wish the dresses of the infernal period weren't so elaborate."