Gales of applause swept about the court, and Carpentaria bowed, and bowed again--bowed innumerably, all the time regarding the middle-aged man with angry and suppressed curiosity. The middle-aged man had lifted up a hand and pulled the triangle-player by the belt of his magnificent uniform, and the triangle-player had bent down to speak to him. “What is it? What is it?” asked Carpentaria, his nerves on edge. “A person insists on speaking to you, sir,” replied the triangle-player. “He cannot,” snapped Carpentaria. “He says he shall,” said the triangle-player. “I’ll----” Carpentaria began an anathema, and then stopped. He went to the rail of the bandstand and leaned over to the middle-aged man. “At your age,” he said grimly, “you ought to know better than to interrupt my concerts in this way. Who are you? What do you want?” “My name is Gloucester, sir,” was the answer. “Doubtless you recollect.” “I do nothing of the kind,” said Carpentaria. “I’m in charge of the--er----” Here Gloucester stood up on tiptoe in an endeavour to whisper directly into Carpentaria’s ear--“the strong-rooms.” “Well,” asked Carpentaria, “what do you want?” “Been robbed, sir.” “Great Heavens, man!” Carpentaria exploded. “You come to interrupt my concert because the strong-rooms have been robbed!” “Two thousand five hundred pounds, sir.” “I don’t care if it’s two thousand times two thousand five hundred pounds. Go away! Go and worry Mr. Ilam.” “That’s just it, sir. Mr. Ilam has been taken, too.” By this time the multitudinous eyes of the audience were fixed on Carpentaria and his interlocutor, and everybody was sapiently saying to everybody else that something extraordinary must have occurred. “What do you mean--Mr. Ilam been taken?” Carpentaria demanded. “He’s been carried off--he carried the money off--he was forced to, sir. Revolver, sir. Can’t you come, sir?” “Can I come? Ye gods! Man, do you know what a concert is? Can I come? Of course I can’t come!” “Mr. Ilam may be dead, sir.” “We shall have leisure to bury him after the concert,” said Carpentaria. “Go away. Go and consult Lapping, head of the police department. Or, rather, don’t. You’ll upset the audience making your way out. Sit down. Sit right down there, and don’t move. We’re going to play my new arrangement of the ‘Glory Song’ with variations. You’ll see it will bring the house down. It will be something you’ll remember as long as you live.” “But, sir,” pleaded Mr. Gloucester pathetically. “Sit down--and listen,” Carpentaria repeated sternly.