'DEAR MADAM,—Either you grant me a profitable interview after the performance or the police will be informed to-morrow morning.
'CLAUDE CUMBERLAND.')
'I only wanted,' said Rodd, 'to ask you to convey my very best wishes to Miss Day. Just that. Nothing more.'
Verschoyle stared at him, and Rodd laughed.
'No. I am not what you think. I have been and am always at your service. To-night has been one of the most wretched of her life. I have been watching the performance. Butcher and his audience have been too much for them.'
'But the success was hers.'
'You do not know her well, if you imagine that such a success is what she desires.'
An attendant came up to them with a note from Clara enclosing Cumberland's. Verschoyle handed it to Rodd, who crumpled it up and said,—
'I knew that was the danger-point. Will you take me to see her? I know these people. I have done what I could. I kicked that fellow out just after you had gone.'
'There is a supper in Sir Henry's room,' said Verschoyle, with an uneasy glance at Rodd's shabby evening clothes. 'I will take you there. Are you an actor?'
'No. I write. I remember you at the Hall when I was at Pembroke.'