Towards midday the Company straggled off the pier with baskets and parcels, and the baggageman was busy collecting the clothes-hampers. The boards of _Little Miss Kiss-and-Tell_ had gone from the turnstiles, and later, bill-stickers came along and splashed up advertisements of a stopgap. The rejected comedians stood on the Parade and eyed the work morosely. They had hoped the theatre would have to be closed. Miss Jinman said, "It was very strange, to say the least; she didn't understand how the bills had been printed since last night! It looked to _her_ as if Mr. Omee had been _playing them false from the start_!" Then striking proof of Mr. Omee's perfidy was forthcoming, his brutal nature was revealed to the full--he offered to make the stranded performers by whom he had lost money, a present of their fares if they liked to return to their homes. "Ah," said the Chorus, "_that_ shows what a dirty trick he served us!" "He has exposed his hand _there_," said Miss Jinman; "_wants to get us out of the town_!" And Mr. Quisby, who meant to pay them nothing, but was endeavouring to make use of them in Slocombe-on-the-Swamp the following week before he decamped, told them there was a reviving prospect of a three months' tour. So not more than a third of the Company profited by Mr. Omee's generosity, and the others warned them that they were being very unwise. And by this time the tidings of the disaster had spread from Corporation Road and Alfreton Terrace as far as the Grand Hotel, where it provided languid amusement, and the plight of the players was known to all the visitors on the Front. Including Conrad. But it was not until Friday, December 26th, that one of those incidents which may occur to anybody associated him with the matter. It had been misty since morning, and towards the close of day the fog deepened. When he left a house where he had been lunching with a man, he took the wrong turning. So far as he was able to see at all, he saw that he had blundered into a neighbourhood which was strange to him. A humble neighbourhood, apparently, with nothing of a watering-place about it. This being Boxing-day, the little shops to which he came were shuttered, and owing to the weather, few people were abroad. He wandered amid dim desertion. Then as he paused, hesitating, two girls emerged suddenly from the fog, and stopped before him. "Oh!" exclaimed one of them, "could you tell us where Gandy's the greengrocer's is?" "I am so sorry," said Conrad, "I can't. Can you direct me to the Parade?" She answered absurdly that he was "coming away from it," though he was standing still. "It's over there," she said; "you go down there, and take the first on the left, and keep straight on. You can't miss it." "I _have_ missed it," demurred Conrad. "Thank you for rescuing me. I wish I could direct you to Gandy's the greengrocer's in return." The other girl had not spoken yet, but now she said--