It was a moonlit night. I remember that distinctly.
He lighted his cigarette, and held his case toward me. I shook my head. I had no desire to smoke.
We walked a few steps together in silence before he said: "I am trying to frame a most unusual request so that it may not seem too fantastic to you. It is more difficult than writing a fugue. The truth is—I have gotten myself into a bit of a fix—and I want to guard against its turning into something worse than that. I need some man's assistance to extricate myself."
I probably looked alarmed. Those forebears of mine will intrude when I am taken by surprise. He saw it, and said, quickly: "It is nothing that a man, willing to be of service to me, need balk at; nothing, in fact, that a chivalrous man would not be glad to do. You may not think very well of me afterward, but be sure you will never regret the act. I was in sore need of a friend. There was none at hand—if such as I ever have friends. Suddenly I saw you. I remembered your violin as I heard it behind me last night—an Amati, I fancy?"
I nodded assent.
"A beautiful instrument. I may some day ask you to let me try it—you and I can never be quite strangers after to-night."
He paused, pounded the side-walk with his stick, impatiently, as if the long preamble made him as nervous as it did me. Then, looking me in the face, he said rapidly: "This is it. When I leave the box, after the next act, do you follow me. Stay by me, no matter what happens. Stick to me, even though I ask you to leave me, so long as there is any one with me. Do more—stay by me, until, in your room or mine, you and I sit down together, and—well, I will explain what must, until then, seem either mad or ridiculous. Is that clear?"
I assured him that it was.
"Agreed then," he said.
By this time we were back at the door. The whole thing had not taken five minutes. We re-entered the theatre, and walked hurriedly through the lobby to the foyer. As we were about to separate, he laid a hand on either of my shoulders, and with a whimsical smile, said: "I'll dare swear I shall try to give you the slip."—The smile died on his lips. It never reached his eyes. "Don't let me do it. After the next act, then," and, with a wave of his hand, he disappeared.