The third act opens with a very tense atmosphere. Horton (Cartel), the husband--unaware that his wife is under arrest, suspected of murder--comes to his home, from the club, where he has spent a sleepless night. It is nearly five o'clock, the hour of the interview. Business of excitement, pacing, looking at watch. He rings for Mary, who enters. "Where is Mrs. Horton, Mary?" he asks. "Mrs. Horton telephoned she would be here at five o'clock, sir," answers Mary, who, according to the playwright, then goes out. But Mary did not exit. "She hasn't been home all night, sir," she added suddenly, unexpectedly, "and it may be that she is in some trouble." Cartel turned a fierce frown upon her. "That will do, Mary," he said, threateningly. Mary threw herself at his feet. "Oh, Mr. Horton, don't be hard on her! She may have been misled by this man; but at heart she is a good woman--I could swear it." Cartel was shaking with fury. He leaned over and grasped the prostrate Mary by the arm, so hard that he nearly cracked her bones. "Ouch!" she cried, "you're hurting me." The audience slowly grasped the fact that this scene was a surprise to Cartel. It was so still you could have heard a sigh. Mary resisted any attempt to get her on her feet, and this side of carrying her off Cartel was helpless. "If you'd only make a confidante of me, Mr. Horton, I could be a help to you in your hour of need," she cried passionately. "Get out!" hissed Cartel, _sotto voce_. "It looks as if she committed that murder, but I have facts to prove that she did not." The rest of the act was devoted to breaking the news of the murder to Horton. In one fell line this demon had demolished the play. The audience began to titter, to laugh, to roar! Cartel dragged Isabelle to the door, and literally flung her forth. But at the expression on her face the audience actually shouted with delight, they applauded deafeningly. Cartel acted quickly. He went up stage, turned his back, and looked out of a prop. window, for what seemed a lifetime, till the hysterics out in front subsided. Finally it was still enough for him to take up the scene again. But at the dramatic entrance of his wife, fresh from a night in jail, they were off again. Cartel glared at them, and in a shamefaced sort of way, they subsided, and the play creaked on, as dead as last year's news. Mary had a later entrance, which Cartel cut, but it necessitated the mention of her name, whereupon the monster mirth was loosed again. Finally the curtain descended upon the tragedy. Mrs. Horton went into hysterics, and Mr. Horton, bathed in sweat, went to look for Isabelle. The company stood about in frightened groups, but he did not see them. He threw open her door without so much as a knock upon it, and he shouted so you could have heard him in Harlem. "You little beast! You--you hell-cat! What d'ye mean by spoiling my scene like that?"