Fenn arrived at the theatre a quarter of an hour before the curtainrose. Going down a gloomy alley of the High Street, he found himselfat the stage door, where he made inquiries of a depressed-looking manwith a bad cold in the head as to the whereabouts of his brother. Itseemed that he was with Mr Higgs. If he would wait, said thedoor-keeper, his name should be sent up. Fenn waited, while thedoor-keeper made polite conversation by describing his symptoms to himin a hoarse growl. Presently the minion who had been despatched to theupper regions with Fenn's message returned. Would he go upstairs,third door on the left. Fenn followed the instructions, and foundhimself in a small room, a third of which was filled by a hugeiron-bound chest, another third by a very stout man and adressing-table, while the rest of the space was comparatively empty,being occupied by a wooden chair with three legs. On this seat hisbrother was trying to balance himself, giving what part of hisattention was not required for this feat to listening to some storythe fat man was telling him. Fenn had heard his deep voice booming ashe went up the passage.
His brother did the honours.
"Glad to see you, glad to see you," said Mr Higgs, for the fat man wasnone other than that celebrity. "Take a seat."Fenn sat down on the chest and promptly tore his trousers on a jaggedpiece of iron.
"These provincial dressing-rooms!" said Mr Higgs, by way of comment.
"No room! Never any room! No chairs! Nothing!"He spoke in short, quick sentences, and gasped between each. Fenn saidit really didn't matter--he was quite comfortable.
"Haven't they done anything about it?" asked Fenn's brother, resumingthe conversation which Fenn's entrance had interrupted. "We've beenhaving a burglary here," he explained. "Somebody got into the theatrelast night through a window. I don't know what they expected to find.""Why," said Fenn, "we've had a burglar up our way too. Chap broke intothe school house and went through the old man's drawing-room. Theschool house men have been talking about nothing else ever since. Iwonder if it's the same crew."Mr Higgs turned in his chair, and waved a stick of grease paintimpressively to emphasise his point.
"There," he said. "There! What I've been saying all along. No doubt ofit. Organised gang. And what are the police doing? Nothing, sir,nothing. Making inquiries. Rot! What's the good of inquiries?"Fenn's brother suggested mildly that inquiries were a good beginning.
You _must_ start somehow. Mr Higgs scouted the idea.
"There ought not to be any doubt, sir. They ought to _know_. ToKNOW," he added, with firmness.
At this point there filtered through the closed doors the strains ofthe opening chorus.
"By Jove, it's begun!" said Fenn's brother. "Come on, Bob.""Where are we going to?" asked Fenn, as he followed. "The wings?"But it seemed that the rules of Mr Higgs' company prevented anyoutsider taking up his position in that desirable quarter. The onlyplace from which it was possible to watch the performance, except bygoing to the front of the house, was the "flies," situated near theroof of the building.
Fenn found all the pleasures of novelty in watching the players fromthis lofty position. Judged by the cold light of reason, it was notthe best place from which to see a play. It was possible to gain onlya very foreshortened view of the actors. But it was a change aftersitting "in front".
The piece was progressing merrily. The gifted author, at first silentand pale, began now to show signs of gratification. Now and again hechuckled as some _jeu de mots_ hit the mark and drew a quick gustof laughter from the unseen audience. Occasionally he would nudge Fennto draw his attention to some good bit of dialogue which wasapproaching. He was obviously enjoying himself.
The advent of Mr Higgs completed his satisfaction, for the audiencegreeted the comedian with roars of applause. As a rule Eckleton tookits drama through the medium of third-rate touring companies, whichcame down with plays that had not managed to attract London to anygreat extent, and were trying to make up for failures in themetropolis by long tours in the provinces. It was seldom that an actorof the Higgs type paid the town a visit, and in a play, too, which hadpositively never appeared before on any stage. Eckleton appreciatedthe compliment.
"Listen," said Fenn's brother. "Isn't that just the part for him? It'sjust like he was in the dressing-room, eh? Short sentences andeverything. The funny part of it is that I didn't know the man when Iwrote the play. It was all luck."Mr Higgs' performance sealed the success of the piece. The houselaughed at everything he said. He sang a song in his gasping way, andthey laughed still more. Fenn's brother became incoherent withdelight. The verdict of Eckleton was hardly likely to affect Londontheatre-goers, but it was very pleasant notwithstanding. Like everyplaywright with his first piece, he had been haunted by the idea thathis dialogue "would not act", that, however humorous it might be to areader, it would fall flat when spoken. There was no doubt now as towhether the lines sounded well.
At the beginning of the second act the great Higgs was not on thestage, Fenn's brother knowing enough of the game not to bring on hisbig man too soon. He had not to enter for ten minutes or so. Theauthor, who had gone down to see him during the interval, stayed inthe dressing-room. Fenn, however, who wanted to see all of the piecethat he could, went up to the "flies" again.
It occurred to him when he got there that he would see more if he tookthe seat which his brother had been occupying. It would give him muchthe same view of the stage, and a wider view of the audience. Hethought it would be amusing to see how the audience looked from the"flies".
Mr W. S. Gilbert once wrote a poem about a certain bishop who, whilefond of amusing himself, objected to his clergy doing likewise. Andthe consequence was that whenever he did so amuse himself, he wasalways haunted by a phantom curate, who joined him in his pleasures,much to his dismay. On one occasion he stopped to watch a Punch andJudy show,And heard, as Punch was being treated penally,That phantom curate laughing all hyaenally.
The disgust and panic of this eminent cleric was as nothing comparedwith that of Fenn, when, shifting to his brother's seat, he got thefirst clear view he had had of the audience. In a box to the left ofthe dress-circle sat, "laughing all hyaenally", the followingdistinguished visitors:
Mr Mulholland of No. 7 College Buildings.
Mr Raynes of No. 4 ditto,andMr Kay.
Fenn drew back like a flash, knocking his chair over as he did so.
"Giddy, sir?" said a stage hand, pleasantly. "Bless you, lots of gentsis like that when they comes up here. Can't stand the 'eight, theycan't. You'll be all right in a jiffy.""Yes. It--it is rather high, isn't it?" said Fenn. "Awful glare, too."He picked up his chair and sat down well out of sight of the box. Hadthey seen him? he wondered. Then common sense returned to him. Theycould not possibly have seen him. Apart from any other reasons, he hadonly been in his brother's seat for half-a-dozen seconds. No. He wasall right so far. But he would have to get back to the house, and atonce. With three of the staff, including his own house-master, rangingthe town, things were a trifle too warm for comfort. He wondered ithad not occurred to him that, with a big attraction at the theatre,some of the staff might feel an inclination to visit it.
He did not stop to say goodbye to his brother. Descending from hisperch, he hurried to the stage door.
"It's in the toobs that I feel it, sir." said the door-keeper, as helet him out, resuming their conversation as if they had only justparted. Fenn hurried off without waiting to hear more.
It was drizzling outside, and there was a fog. Not a "Londonparticular", but quite thick enough to make it difficult to see whereone was going. People and vehicles passed him, vague phantoms in thedarkness. Occasionally the former collided with him. He began to wishhe had not accepted his brother's invitation. The unexpected sight ofthe three masters had shaken his nerve. Till then only the romantic,adventurous side of the expedition had struck him. Now the risks beganto loom larger in his mind. It was all very well, he felt, to think, ashe had done, that he would be expelled if found out, but that all thesame he would risk it. Detection then had seemed a remote contingency.
With three masters in the offing it became at least a possibility. Themelancholy case of Peter Brown seemed to him now to have a morepersonal significance for him.
Wrapped in these reflections, he lost his way.
He did not realise this for some time. It was borne in upon him whenthe road he was taking suddenly came to an abrupt end in a blank wall.
Instead of being, as he had fancied, in the High Street, he must havebranched off into some miserable blind alley.
More than ever he wished he had not come. Eckleton was not a town thattook up a great deal of room on the map of England, but it made up forsmall dimensions by the eccentricity with which it had been laid out.
On a dark and foggy night, to one who knew little of its geography, itwas a perfect maze.
Fenn had wandered some way when the sound of someone whistling apopular music-hall song came to him through the gloom. He had neverheard anything more agreeable.
"I say," he shouted at a venture, "can you tell me the way to the HighStreet?"The whistler stopped in the middle of a bar, and presently Fenn saw afigure sidling towards him in what struck him as a particularlyfurtive manner.
"Wot's thet, gav'nor?""Can you tell me where the High Street is? I've lost my way."The vague figure came closer.
"'Igh Street? Yus; yer go--"A hand shot out, Fenn felt a sharp wrench in the region of hiswaistcoat, and a moment later the stranger had vanished into the fogwith the prefect's watch and chain.
Fenn forgot his desire to return to the High Street. He forgoteverything except that he wished to catch the fugitive, maltreat him,and retrieve his property. He tore in the direction whence came thepatter of retreating foot-steps.
There were moments when he thought he had him, when he could hear thesound of his breathing. But the fog was against him. Just as he wasalmost on his man's heels, the fugitive turned sharply into a streetwhich was moderately well lighted. Fenn turned after him. He had justtime to recognise the street as his goal, the High Street, whensomebody, walking unexpectedly out of the corner house, stood directlyin his path. Fenn could not stop himself. He charged the man squarely,clutched him to save himself, and they fell in a heap on the pavement.
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