waistcoat seemed to have assumed careworn creases, his mop of blonde hair
was palpably rumpled as if he had been endeavouring to tear some of its
wavy locks out by force. And when he spoke his fat voice shook with a
mixture of chagrin and anger.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I crave ten thousand--a
million--pardons for this so-unheard-of state of affairs! The--the truth
is, Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet here. What is more--I have to
tell you the truth--Mademoiselle refuses to come--refuses to fulfil her
honourable engagement. We are--have been for some time--on the telephone
with her. Mademoiselle is at her hotel. She declares she has been
robbed--her jewels have all been stolen from their case in her
apartments. She is--how shall I say?--turning the hotel upside down! She
refuses to budge one inch until her jewels are restored to her. How
then?--I cannot restore her jewels. I say to her--my colleagues say to
her--it is not your jewels we desire--it is your so beautiful, so
incomparable voice. She reply--I cannot tell you what she reply! In
effect--no jewels, no song! Ladies and gentlemen, once more!--your most
kind, most considerate indulgence! I go there just now--I fly; swift, to
the hotel, to entreat Mademoiselle on my knees to return with me! In the
meantime--"

As Weiss retired from the platform, and the longhaired 'cellist came upon
it, Fullaway sprang up, dragging Allerdyke after him. He led the way to
a sidedoor, whispered something to an attendant, and was quickly ushered
through another door to an ante-room behind the wings, where Weiss, livid
with anger, was struggling into an opera-cloak. The concert-director
gasped as he caught sight of the American.

"Ah, my dear Mr. Fullaway!" he exclaimed. "You here! You have heard?--you