Dakins?" Edward Henry held out a cordial hand,
for even the greatest men are pleased to be greeted in a place of
entertainment by the managing director thereof. Further, his identity
was now recognized.
"Haven't you seen those gentlemen in that box beckoning to you?" said
Mr. Dakins, proudly deprecating complimentary remarks on the show.
"Which box?"
Mr. Dakins' hand indicated a stage-box. And Henry, looking, saw three
men, one unknown to him, the second, Robert Brindley, the architect,
of Bursley, and the third, Dr. Stirling.
Instantly his conscience leapt up within him. He thought of rabies.
Yes, sobered in the fraction of a second, he thought of rabies.
Supposing that, after all, in spite of Mr. Long's Muzzling Order, as
cited by his infant son, an odd case of rabies should have lingered in
the British Isles, and supposing that Carlo had been infected ...!
Not impossible ...! Was it providential that Dr. Stirling was in the
auditorium?
"You know two of them?" said Mr. Dakins.
"Yes."
"Well, the third's a Mr. Bryany. He's manager to Mr. Seven Sachs." Mr.
Dakins' tone was respectful.
"And who's Mr. Seven Sachs?" asked Edward Henry, absently. It was a
stupid question.
He was impressively informed that Mr. Seven Sachs was the arch-famous
American actor-playwright, now nearing the end of a provincial tour,
which had surpassed all records of provincial tours, and that he
would be at the Theatre Royal, Hanbridge, next week.
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