When It Was Dark: The Story of a Great ConspiracyThorne, Guy
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When It Was Dark: The Story of a Great Conspiracy
Thorne, Guy
Christian fiction; Conspiracies -- Fiction; England -- Fiction
The room was quite silent now. A few men sat about reading the evening
papers, and there was a subdued hum of talk from a table where two men
were playing a casual game of chess, in which neither of them seemed
much interested. A large clock upon the oak mantel-shelf ticked with
muffled and soothing regularity.
Llwellyn picked up a sixpenny illustrated paper, devoted to amusements
and the lighter side of life, and lazily opened it.
His eye fell upon a double-page article interspersed with photographs of
actors and actresses. The article was a summing-up of the year's events
on the lighter stage by an accepted expert in such matters. He read as
follows:
"The six Trocadero girls whom I remember in Paris recently billed
as 'The Cocktails,' never forget that grace is more important in
dancing than mere agility. They are youthful looking, pretty and
supple, and their manœuvres are cunningly devised. The _diseuse_ of
the troupe, Mdlle. Nepinasse, sings the Parisian success, _Viens
Poupoule_, with considerable 'go' and swing. But in hearing her at
the 'Gloucester' the other night I could not help regretting the
disappearance of brilliant Gertrude Hunt from the boards where she
was so great an attraction. _Poupoule_, or its English equivalent,
is just the type of song, with its attendant descriptive dance, in
which that gay little lady was seen at her best. In losing her, the
musical-comedy stage has lost a player whose peculiar individuality
will not easily be replaced. Gertrude Hunt stood quite alone among
her sisters of the Profession. Who will readily forget the pert
_insouciance_, the little trick of the gloved hands, the mellow
calling voice? It has been announced that this popular favourite
has disappeared for ever from the stage. But there is a distinct
mystery about the sudden eclipse of this star, and one which
conjecture and inquiry has utterly failed to solve. Well, I, in
common with thousands of others, can only sigh and regret it. Yet I
should like to think that these lines would meet her eye, and she
may know that I am only voicing the wishes of the public when I
call to her to come back and delight our eyes and ears as before."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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