“Patricia Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit of Christmas! Where has she gone?”
Staring to right and left, she found her way blocked. Then with the nimbleness of an obstacle racer, she vaulted over four rows of seats to dash away through the milling crowd toward the platform.
“Where is she?” she demanded of an attendant.
“Who, Miss?”
“The—the Mystery Lady. No, No! Miss Diurno, the virtuoso.”
“Most likely in the Green Room, Miss. Who—who—is some of her folks dead?”
“No, no! But please show me where the Green Room is, quick!”
Leading the way, he took her to the back of the stage, through a low door, down a long passage-way to a large room where a number of people stood talking.
A glance about the place told her that Miss Diurno was not there.
“Is this the Green Room?”