'This is the most curious thing that ever happened to me,' he thought, as he stood for the second time in Piccadilly Circus. 'Why the devil can't I go into that theatre? I'm not nervous. I'm not a bit nervous.' It was so curious that he felt an impulse to confide to someone how curious it was. Then he went into the Criterion bar and sat down. The clock showed seventeen minutes to nine. His piece was advertised to start at eight-thirty precisely. The Criterion Bar is never empty, but it has its moments of lassitude, and seventeen minutes to nine is one of them. After an interval a waiter slackly approached him. 'Brandy-and-soda!' Henry ordered, well knowing that brandy-and-soda never suited him. He glanced away from the clock, repeated 'Punch, brothers, punch with care,' twenty times, recited 'God save the Queen,' took six small sips at the brandy-and-soda, and then looked at the clock again, and it was only fourteen minutes to nine. He had guessed it might be fourteen minutes to ten. He caught the eye of a barmaid, and she seemed to be saying to him sternly: 'If you think you can occupy this place all night on a ninepenny drink, you are mistaken. Either you ought to order another or hook it.' He braved it for several more ages, then paid, and went; and still it was only ten minutes to nine. All mundane phenomena were inexplicably contorted that night. As he was passing the end of the short street which contains the stage-door of Prince's Theatre, a man, standing at the door on the lookout, hailed him loudly. He hesitated, and the man--it was the doorkeeper--flew forward and seized him and dragged him in. 'Drink this, Mr. Knight,' commanded the doorkeeper. 'I'm all right,' said Henry. 'What's up?' 'Yes, I know you're all right. Drink it.' And he drank a whisky-and-soda. 'Come upstairs,' said the doorkeeper. 'You'll be wanted, Mr. Knight.' As he approached the wings of the stage, under the traction of the breathless doorkeeper, he was conscious of the falling of the curtain, and of the noisiest noise beyond the curtain that he had ever heard. 'Here, Mr. Knight, drink this,' said someone in his ear. 'Keep steady. It's nothing.' And he drank a glass of port. His overcoat was jerked off by a mysterious agency. The noise continued to be terrible: it rose and fell like the sea. Then he was aware of Jane Map rushing towards him and of Jane Map kissing him rapturously on the mouth. 'Come _on_,' cried Jane Map, and pulled him by the hand, helter-skelter, until they came in front of a blaze of light and the noise crashed at his ears.