His prominent teeth gleamed,--it was as much a snarl as a smile. "We are wastin' time," he said suddenly, with an air of returning to business. "Take this can o' kerosene an' empty it on the floor of the green-room, while I fix the other combustibles." The "first player" stood amazed. "You blamed idiot!" he exclaimed, "there's oil enough on these canvases to send the whole place a-flaring like perdition." The thickset man's fierceness returned. "Who is killin' this cat," he snarled angrily,--"you or me? I had my grudge agin this theatre jes' a-dunnin' night an' day ter be paid, an' I promised ter help ye _ef I bossed the job_; ain't that the trade?" "The shortest way," muttered the "first player," yielding the point. He caught up the can and disappeared in the direction of the green-room. The stocky figure on the stage was so suddenly joined by another that Ned rubbed his eyes, thinking he saw two where there was but one. "I got the star's wardrobe out o' the dressin'-room," the newcomer said in an agitated whisper. "Keep dark," said the thickset man,--he nodded toward the exit where the "first player" had disappeared. "He don't suspicion nothin'; he thinks there ain't a soul here but him an' me. He bargained that nothing should be took! He said that he ain't a thief, an' the goods would get us found out. But _you_ just make the haul anyhow,--but make it sly, for true." The two rascals went through the dumb show of much merry scorn of the "first player's" stipulations. "Our pals have tolled off the night watchman,--an' they're workin' at the safe now. Dynamite is the word,--it's a time lock, they think." This was overwhelming to Ned, who had not dreamed that the receipts were kept in the theatre over night,--a considerable sum must have been realized from that crowded house. The newcomer was starting off. The thickset scamp beckoned him back. "Did the star leave anything besides the rich costumes?" "Left gloves." The attitude of the stocky figure expressed disappointment. "Left handkerchief." The disappointment evidently deepened. "Left studs on dressing-table--diamonds--very fine!" The speaker disappeared, with a triumphant wave of the hand. The bandy-legged rascal, inflated with the pride of the moment, strode down to the dark foot-lamps. "The keerlessness of one man blesses the keerfullness of another," he declaimed, addressing the empty auditorium. This was doubtless the finest presentation of a villain ever seen upon these boards, for this was the genuine article. Whether a light suddenly sprang up in one corner of the building, whether Ned heard the crackling of burning timber and canvas, or whether these impressions were delusions of his own over-excited brain, he could never say. He was possessed by the fear of being burned alive in the intricacies of this place, knowing no door, and no window save the one at which he had entered.