But alas! her triumph was premature. Shortly after the arrival of the gentleman with the gardenia the drop-curtains ascended upon Turn Number Five--Professor Boko, the Man of Mystery, assisted by a stout lady in mauve tights. The Professor, speaking with a French accent which had plainly served an apprenticeship in New York, opened the proceedings by appealing to the audience to send up an impartial and unbiased body of gentlemen upon the stage, to act--why, Heaven knows--as "Committee." "You go, dad!" said Sylvia. "I expect the Man of Mystery has made his own arrangements," replied Mr. Mablethorpe. And sure enough, almost before he had spoken, the gentleman with the gardenia left his seat and scrambled up a pair of plush-covered steps to the stage. He must have repented bitterly of his public-spirited precipitancy; for instead of being treated with respect due to a Committee,--no one else had come forward,--he was subjected by the Professor to a series of humiliating and embarrassing experiences. Showers of playing-cards were squeezed from his nose; flapping goldfish were extracted from his ears; bullets were fired point-blank into his shirt-front and discovered (by the lady in tights) in his coat-tail pockets. His silk hat was turned into a coffee-urn. His very gardenia was snatched from him and shaken out into a Union Jack. Still, he maintained a heroic attitude throughout, smiling woodenly at each successive outrage, and loudly proclaiming his entire satisfaction with the genuineness of the performance before resuming his seat. However, it was plain that the strain had been too great for him; for presently he put on his hat, stole quietly away, and was no more seen. "Poor thing! I wonder where he has gone to," said the sympathetic Sylvia. Derek Rayner, who was at the age for which the drama has no secrets, explained that this gentleman was now probably travelling in the same cab with the Man of Mystery and the lady in tights to undergo further humiliations at another music-hall. Presently the stalls began to fill up in real earnest, and turns came thick and fast. Some were sentimental, some were funny, a few were vulgar, and some were merely idiotic. Once or twice Mr. Mablethorpe held his head and said his brain was going; but on the whole they enjoyed themselves greatly, especially that unspoiled child of nature, Miss Sylvia. Sylvia was particularly pleased with Mr. Arthur Mow, Comedian. When that gentleman's number went up there was a round of applause, and the orchestra dashed into a merry tune. There came a pause. Then the tune was played again. Then another pause. Slight uneasiness among the audience. "He hasn't turned up," remarked the worldly-wise Rayner. "These chaps do four Halls a night. He's probably on the other side of London, in a broken-down taxi." The band played its prelude once more, and then some one--presumably the manager--appeared upon the stage and offered an apology for Mr. Mow's absence.