“Take me to the stage door,” he said. “Tell your tenor friend, the man who wrecked the power plant so cleverly, who I am. Then leave me. I have an idea.”
They walked quickly across the street and along the side of the opera house to a side door near the rear. A man leaned against the doorjamb and looked up at them curiously.
“Arturo, quick,” the old man said. “Ask no questions. Find Enrico at once. Bring him here.”
The man’s eyes opened wide, then he darted inside. He reappeared in a few seconds with a young man who limped slightly. The young man had begun to apply make-up to his face. He beckoned them inside.
“Enrico, this is the American,” Tomaso said. “This is Ricardo Donnelli.”
The young man looked at Dick in admiration but said nothing.
“The Germans have surrounded the town, and are searching for him,” Tomaso said. “Help him. Do what he asks.”
“Anything,” Enrico said. “You go now, Tomaso.”
The old man stopped at the door long enough to say, “Not a word of this,” to the doorkeeper, who nodded his head in vigorous assent. Then he disappeared.
Dick spoke quickly in Italian to the young singer.