1.

　　In these days when the authorities who watch over the welfare of thecommunity have taken the trouble to reiterate encouragingly inprinted notices that a full house can he emptied in three minutes andthat all an audience has to do in an emergency is to walk, not run,to the nearest exit, fire in the theatre has lost a good deal of itsold-time terror. Yet it would be paltering with the truth to say thatthe audience which had assembled to witness the opening performanceof the new play at the Leicester was entirely at its ease. Theasbestos curtain was already on its way down, which should have beenreassuring: but then asbestos curtains never look the part. To thelay eye they seem just the sort of thing that will blaze quickest.

　　Moreover, it had not yet occurred to the man at the switchboard toturn up the house-lights, and the darkness was disconcerting.

　　Portions of the house were taking the thing better than otherportions. Up in the gallery a vast activity was going on. The clatterof feet almost drowned the shouting. A moment before it would haveseemed incredible that anything could have made the occupants of thegallery animated, but the instinct of self-preservation had put newlife into them.

　　The stalls had not yet entirely lost their self-control. Alarm was inthe air, but for the moment they hung on the razor-edge between panicand dignity. Panic urged them to do something sudden and energetic:

　　dignity counselled them to wait. They, like the occupants of thegallery, greatly desired to be outside, but it was bad form to rushand jostle. The men were assisting the women into their cloaks,assuring them the while that it was "all right" and that they mustnot be frightened. But another curl of smoke had crept out justbefore the asbestos curtain completed its descent, and their wordslacked the ring of conviction. The movement towards the exits had notyet become a stampede, but already those with seats nearest the stagehad begun to feel that the more fortunate individuals near the doorswere infernally slow in removing themselves.

　　Suddenly, as if by mutual inspiration, the composure of the stallsbegan to slip. Looking from above, one could have seen a sort ofshudder run through the crowd. It was the effect of every member ofthat crowd starting to move a little more quickly.

　　A hand grasped Jill's arm. It was a comforting hand, the hand of aman who had not lost his head. A pleasant voice backed up its messageof reassurance.

　　"It's no good getting into that mob. You might get hurt. There's nodanger: the play isn't going on."Jill was shaken: but she had the fighting spirit and hated to showthat she was shaken. Panic was knocking at the door of her soul, butdignity refused to be dislodged.

　　"All the same," she said, smiling a difficult smile, "it would benice to get out, wouldn't it?""I was just going to suggest something of that very sort," said theman beside her. "The same thought occurred to me. We can stroll outquite comfortably by our own private route. Come along."Jill looked over her shoulder. Derek and Lady Underhill were mergedinto the mass of refugees. She could not see them. For an instant alittle spasm of pique stung her at the thought that Derek haddeserted her. She groped her way after her companion, and presentlythey came by way of a lower box to the iron pass-door leading to thestage.