And I was the less disposed to take things for granted because of the rather irritating obscurity that veiled the opening of the Second Act, in which we are introduced to The House of Peril and are left for a long time in doubt as to the nature of the place and its relation to anything that has gone before. I think this must have been the fault of the adapter, Mr. VACHELL. He seems to have assumed in his audience a general knowledge of the original story--dangerous confidence, even in the case of so clever and popular a writer as Mrs. BELLOC LOWNDES. It certainly was his fault that the end of the play was like nothing ever seen off the stage. Let me briefly put the scene before you. A young Englishwoman, paying a farewell call upon the criminals of The House of Peril, has been drugged by them. She wakes up prematurely to find them collecting her pearl necklace--four thousand pounds' worth of it. Murder is in the air, when suddenly, to the surprise of the villains (but not to ours, for we had had fair warning of the _dénouement_), enter to the rescue two admirers of the lady. In the excitement attendant upon her recovery from a swoon the druggists are suffered to pass out through the door into the arms of a posse of constabulary. At this juncture, the lady having been restored to her senses, you might suppose that the rescue-party would take at least some fleeting interest in the disposal of their prisoners. There you would be in error. The final curtain is due and there are peremptory affairs of the heart to be wound up before we can get away. So, to clear the ground, one of the admirers makes a gallant statement which redeems the other's character from a false suspicion, and, rightly regarding himself as _de trop_, goes off by another exit and shows no further concern in either of the two developments--on or off the stage. The remaining admirer, left alone in the company of the lady, ignores with a fine detachment the impotent rage that his captives are presumably venting in the passage just outside, and declares the ardour of his passion as a man might do in the breathless calm of a moonlit solitude _à deux_. And on this idyllic scene the curtain descends. [Illustration: "PAP-PA" AND "POOSY-CAT." _Wachner_ . . . . . MR. NORMAN MCKINNEL. _Madame Wachner_ . . MISS ANNIE SCHLETTER.] The most satisfying thing in the play was the acting of Miss ANNIE SCHLETTER as "_Madame" Wachner_ of the Chalet des Muguets, an extraordinarily clever study of the doting _Hausfrau,_ much busied about the service of her lord. Mr. NORMAN MCKINNEL as _Wachner_ easily contrived to convey the typically Teuton blend of brutishness, and domestic sentimentality, combined with the heavy playfulness which by a curious delusion, ineradicably racial, is mistaken over there for humour. "Ja, ja," he says complacently, "I have the humour-sense."