"Here, you young thieving varmints. Where's my money for the two evenings you had my piano? Five-and-six a night, and three shillings for transport. I'll just thank you to hand over fourteen shillings." "I'm afeared----" Pat was commencing feebly. "No jaw! Hand over my fourteen shillings," repeated the man. Pat accordingly remained silent, and fumbled in his pocket. The piano-owner's brow cleared somewhat, but only to cloud afresh as the youth merely produced his father's visiting-card. "If you'll take this," faltered Pat, offering the piece of pasteboard. "What! D'you think that's good enough! You and your visiting-card be----" the irate creditor was beginning, when the owner of the hall interposed-- "Look here. I shall pay you this fourteen shillings out of my own pocket, and for my security I will retain possession of everything now in the place. Do you all understand?"--and he glanced sternly round at the assembled company. "You're at liberty to take yourselves off--the sooner the better--but if any of you attempt to remove any properties--yes, I mean either stage-truck, or what you choose to call your own--I will have in the police. Understand that now." His listeners returned him no response, but unobtrusively wandered off to their respective dressing-rooms. Forewarned, everybody had practically completed their packing, and now the owner of the hall, penetrating behind the scenes, discovered the entire company to be fastening straps and hastily cramming various objects of one sort and another into pockets or blouses. Bags and boxes were vanishing with various figures who were drifting away towards the front entrance--striving to render themselves as small and insignificant as possible--yet departing with all good speed. In an instant he had made up his mind. He whispered to one of his satellites, and in half a minute all the gas was turned off, plunging the whole place into inky blackness. Evarne was in the act of fastening the padlock to the end of the long metal rod of her basket, when this darkness as of Erebus suddenly descended. Finishing her task, she was groping her way between chairs and boxes to where she imagined the door to be, when she heard the welcome sound of Mont's voice. "Are you here, Miss Stornway?" "Yes, quite lost. What has happened?" "He's done it on purpose. Here, Brown, strike that match now. Quickly, which is your box? We will carry it out for you." The last match they owned between them flared and died out, and in the darkness the three groped their way from the hall. Evarne went ahead and tried to clear the track as best she could, but all stumbled and lurched against overturned chairs, and tripped over articles dropped in the hasty escape of those who had preceded them. CHAPTER XXII POVERTY MAKES ONE ACQUAINTED WITH STRANGE BEDFELLOWS