Judge Pursuivant appeared at noon the next day, and Varduk, hailing him cordially, invited him to lunch.
"I wonder," ventured Varduk as we all sat down together, "if you, Judge Pursuivant, would not speak a few words in our favor before the curtain tonight."
"I?" The judge stared, then laughed. "But I'm not part of the management."
"The management—which means myself—will be busy getting into costume for the first act. You are a scholar, a man whose recent book on Byron has attracted notice. It is fitting that you do what you can to help our opening."
"Oh," said Pursuivant, "if you put it like that—but what shall I tell the audience?"
"Make it as short as you like, but impressive. You might announce that all present are subpenaed as witnesses to a classic moment."
Pursuivant smiled. "That's rather good, Mr. Varduk, and quite true as well. Very good, count on me."
But after lunch he drew me almost forcibly away from the others, talking affably about the merits of various wines until we were well out of earshot. Then his tone changed abruptly.
"I think we know now that the thing—whatever it is—will happen at the play, and we also know why."