Over the hall rang out a man's voice, commanding, terrible:
"Stop!"
All eyes turned to Greasy Jones' box. The actor hesitated in bewildered fashion, then, evidently deciding that the interruption was not seriously meant, went on:
"I tell you, there's going to be a change. We'll dash the yallah-legs——"
"Stop!"
"Heavens! I'm glad we came in," whispered Nita Oswald. "This is going to be exciting. Is the terrible Greasy Jones a British patriot, after all?"
"He's no patriot," the clergyman whispered back. "Keep still."
Again the actor looked up at the box. Greasy Jones, his ladies having fallen back, was clearly visible, his fierce eyes fixed on the wretched speaker.
"Isn't tha' what you——?" whispered the actor.
The answer was a pistol-shot, smashing the hush. Greasy Jones, his face livid with rage, had fired. The actor pitched upon his face, dead.