"We'd better clear out," suggested Saunders; "there's going to be trouble."
"If there's a row," announced Trafford grimly, "I'm going to be in it. You've seen stirring times over here before, but I'm a novice at it, and I want blooding. Shall we raise three cheers for Karl and fight our way out?"
"Not if you want to keep your thick skull weather-proof," was the sensible retort. "There's always discontent in Grimland, but there's a big sea running just now, and it isn't wise to fight the elements. Sit tight, my friend, and you'll live to see more exciting things than a noisy night at the Eden Music-Hall."
The curtain was down again now, but the audience still roared for the re-appearance of their favourite, still clamoured for another verse of the intoxicating song.
"Hullo! what's this?" cried Trafford. An attendant had edged her way up to Saunders, and was offering him a folded note on a tray. "If you have any pleasant memories of the winter of 1904, come round to the stage door and ask for Fräulein Schmitt." That was the purport of the note, and after reading it, Saunders handed it to Trafford.
"Then it must be your lady friend, after all," maintained the latter, smiling at his friend.
"It must indeed," acquiesced Saunders with a frown. "Come round with me now."
"Why not go by yourself?"
"Because I am a married man," replied Saunders, "and I want a chaperon." And together the two men left the still noisy house and made their way to the stage door.
Under the guidance of a pale youth in a shabby pony coat, they entered a gloomy passage, ascended a steep flight of stone steps, and halted before a door, which had once been painted green.