Yet if he remained Petit Patou he must stay in France, the land of his professional adoption. From appearing on the English stage he shrank, with morbid sensitiveness. There was America, where he was unknown.... Already Moignon was in touch, on his behalf, with powerful American agencies. Just before he left Paris Moignon had said: "They are nibbling for the winter." But it was all vague. France alone appeared solid--in spite of the disasters of these first two nights. "I wish to God," he cried suddenly, after a long silence, "I wish to God I could cut everything and come with you." "What prevents you?" asked Arbuthnot. "I have ties," said he. Arbuthnot met the grim look on his face which forbade further questioning. "Ah!" said he. "Still," he added with a laugh, "I'm at the Hôtel de Noailles till Friday. That is to say----" He explained that he was going the next day to Monte Carlo, which he had never seen, to spend a night or two, but would return in good time for the sailing of the Osway and the hearing of General Lackaday's final decision. On their drive back to Marseilles, Arbuthnot, during a pause in their talk, said: "What I can't understand is this. If you're on the music-hall stage, what the deuce are you doing in Marseilles?" "I'm here on business with my partner," Andrew replied curtly. "If it weren't for that--a business engagement--I would ask you to spend the evening with me," he added. "What are you going to do?" "I went to the theatre last night. What else is there?" "They have an excellent Revue at the El Dorado. Go there." "I will," said Arbuthnot. Andrew breathed freely, relieved from the dread lest this genial and unsuspecting brother in arms should wander into Olympia and behold--what? What kind of a performance? What kind of a reception? All apart from beholding him in his green silk tights and painted face. They parted at the Hôtel de Noailles. The Australian shook him warmly by the hand. "This has been one of the great days of my life," said he, with his frank smile. "The day when I return and you tell me you're coming with me, will be a greater." Andrew walked away in a glow. Here was a man of proved worth, proved in the furnace in which they had met, straight as his eyes, sincere to his soul, who had claimed him as a leader of the Great Brotherhood, who, with a generosity acceptable under the unwritten law of that 'Brotherhood's Freemasonry, had opened his way to freedom and a man's hie. Whether he could follow the way or not was another matter. The fact of the generous opening remained; a heartening thing for all time. You may perhaps remember that, in the introductory letter which accompanied the manuscript and is quoted at the beginning of this record of the doings of Andrew Lackaday, he remarks: "At the present moment I am between the devil and the deep sea. I am hoping that the latter will be the solution of my difficulties."