“It—why, it’s nothing.”
“Please don’t lie to me,” she pleaded. “One has no need to lie to a friend.”
“Well, then, if you must have it.” On his face a curious smile formed itself. “There’s a racket been going on in this town for a long time. My old friend Barney Bobson told me about it.
“You see,” he explained, leading her back to the fire, “most actors are nervous, temperamental people. They can’t stand suspense, lurking danger and all that. These crooks, knowing that, have taken to demanding sums of money for what they term a good cause: The Actors’ Benefit. They are the only actors benefited, and they are not actors at all, but deep-dyed villains. They have reaped a harvest.
“But here—” He threw back his shock of gray hair. “Here is one golden harvest that will never be reaped. I’d rather die. I’m an old man. What’s a year more or less? How wonderful to go out like a candle; providing you go for a good cause!”
As Jeanne looked at him it seemed to her that his face was lit with a strange glory.
“But what will they do?” she asked. “And why do they come to you before the opera has gone on the stage?”
“They know we have had some advances; can perhaps get others. The opera may be a failure; at least that’s what they think. Now is the time to strike.”
“And if you continue to refuse?”
“I may meet them on a dark night. Or—” His face turned gray. “Or they may kidnap you.”