The Blind Barber

under the whirring fans and the pastoral scenes of the roof. He saw the amber lights glittering on mosaic glass in the windows, and heard somebody strumming the piano. Good old bar! Excellent bar!

'Come on!' said Captain Valvick. 'Shovf de ladies into chairs at de table here and we make de round. Coorosh! Ay vant to see that marionette show myself. Come on. We start along de side and work ofer. You see him anywhere? Ay dunno him at all.'

Morgan did not see him. He saw white-coated stewards shuttling in and out of the crowd with trays; but everybody in the crowd seemed to get in his way. Twice they made the circuit of the room: and no Uncle Jules.

'It's all right, I think,' said Morgan, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief when they drew back towards a door giving on B deck. 'He's probably gone down to take a last look at the marionettes. It's all right. He's safe, after all, and—'

' 'When chapman-billies leave the street,'' intoned a sepulchral voice just behind them, ' 'and drouthy neighbours neighbours meet — When market-days are wearin' late, and folk begin to tak the gate'… Not bad, not bad,' the voice broke off genially. 'Guid evening to ye, Mr. Morgan!'

Morgan whirled. A hand was raised in greeting from a leather alcove in a corner, where Dr. Oliver Harrison Kyle sot bolt upright in a solitary state. On Dr. Kyle's rugged face there was an expression of Jovian pleasure; a trifle frozen, it is true, but dreamy and appreciative. He had stretched out one hand levelly, and his eyes were half- closed as he rolled out the lines. But now he gestured hospitably.

Dr. Kyle was full of reaming swats that drank divinely. Dr. Kyle was, in fact, cockeyed.

' 'Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,' ' announced Dr. Kyle, with a gesture that indicated him to be a local boy and proud of it, ' 'for honest men and bonnie lasses'! Aye! A statement ye ken, Mr. Morgan, frae the wairks o' the great Scottish poet, Rabbie Burrrns. Sit down, Mr. Morgan. And perhaps ye'll tak a drap o' whusky, eh? 'The souter tauld his queerest stories —''

'Excuse me, sir,' said Morgan. 'We can't stop now, I'm afraid, but maybe you can help us. We're looking for a Frenchman named Fortinbras; short, stocky chap — perhaps you saw—?'

'Ah,' said the doctor reflectively. He shook his head. 'A guid horse, Mr. Morgan, a guid horse, but ower hasty. Weel, weel! I could ha' tauld him frae his ain exuberance at clearing the firrst sax hurdles he wadna gang the courrse. Ye'll find him there,' said Dr. Kyle.

They hauled Uncle Jules out from under the lounge, a pleasant far-off smile on his red face, but unquestionably locked in slumber. Peggy and Mrs. Perrigord arrived just as they were trying to revive him.

'Quick!' Peggy gulped. 'I knew it! Stand round, now, so nobody sees him. The door's right behind you… carry him out and downstairs.'

'Any chance of reviving him?' inquired Morgan, rather doubtfully. 'He looks—'

'Come on! Don't argue! You won't say anything of this, will you, Dr. Kyle?' she demanded. 'He'll be perfectly all right by curtain-time. Pease don't mention it. Nobody'll ever know…'

The doctor assured her gallantly the secret would be safe with him. He deplored the habits of inebriates, and offered to give them assistance in moving Uncle Jules; but Valvick and Morgan managed it. They contrived to lurch out on the deck and below without more than the incurious observation of stewards. Peggy, stanching her tears, was a whirlwind.

'Not to his cabin — to the dressing-room at the back entrance to the concert-hall! Oh, be careful! Be careful! Where can Abdul have been? Why wasn't Abdul watching him? Abdul will be furious; he's got a fearful temper as it is… Oh, if we can't revive him there'll be nobody to speak the prologue; and Abdul will have to take all the parts himself, which he probably won't do…. Listen! You can hear the hall filling up already… '

They had come out into the corridor in the starboard side of C deck aft, and Peggy led them up a darkish side-passage. At its end was a door opening on a steep stairway, and beside it the door of a large cabin whose lights she switched on. Faintly, from up the staircase, they could hear an echoing murmur which seemed to come chiefly from children. Panting hard, Morgan helped Valvick spill on a couch the puppet-master, who was as heavily limp as one of his own puppets. A small whistle escaped the lips of Uncle Jules as his head rolled over. He murmured, 'Magnifique!' and began to snore, smiling sadly.

Peggy, weeping and cursing at once, rushed to an open trunk in one corner of the cabin. It was a cabin fully fitted up as a dressing-room, Morgan saw. Three superb uniforms, with spiked helmets, broadswords, scimitars, chain mail, and cloaks crusted in glass jewels, hung in a wardrobe. A scent of powder was in the air; on a lighted dressing table were false whiskers of varying hues, wigs in long fighting-curls, face creams, greasepaints, spirit gum, make-up boxes, and pencils of rich soft blackness. Morgan breathed deeply the air of the theatre and liked it. Peggy snatched from the trunk a large box of baking-soda.

•'You neffer do it,' said Captain Valvick, looking gloomily at Uncle Jules. 'Ay seen lots of drunks in my time, and (til you—'

'I will do it!' cried Peggy. 'Mrs. Perrigord, please, please stop crying and pour out a glass of water. Water, somebody! I got him round once in Nashville when he was nearly as bad as this. Now! Now, if somebody will —'

'Oh, the poah deah!' cried Mrs. Perrigord, going over to stroke his forehead. Immediately, with a deep snore which rose to crescendo in a reverberating whistle, Uncle Jules slid off the couch on the other side.

'lip!' wailed Peggy. 'Hold him — lift him up, Captain! Hold his head. That's it. Now tickle him. Yes, tickle him; you know.' She dropped a lump of baking-soda into a glass of water and advanced warily through an aroma of gin that was drowning the odour of grease-paint. 'Hold Him now. Oh, where is Abdul? Abdul knows how to do (Hi*! Now, hold him and tickle him a little… '

'Gla-goo!' snorted Uncle Jules, leaping like a captured

An expression of mild annoyance had crossed his face.

face

dolphin.

'Viens, mon oncle!' whispered Peggy soothingly. Her steps were a little unsteady, her eyes smearily bright; but lip whs determined. 'Ah, mon pauvre enfant! Mon pauvre ftfflt fiosse! Viens, alors…

The pauvre enfant seemed vaguely to catch the drift of fill* lie sat up suddenly with his eyes closed; his fist shot Mil with unerring aim, caught the glass full and true, and muled it with a crash against the opposite bulkhead. Then Uncle Jules slid down and serenely went on snoring. 'Haah, whee!' breathed Uncle Jules.

There was a knock at the door.

Peggy nearly screamed as she backed away. 'That can't

Mr, Perrigord!' she wailed. 'Oh, it can't be! He'll ruin us if he learns this. He hates drinking, and he says he's going to write an account again for the papers. Abdul! Maybe it's Abdul. He'll have to do it now. He'll have to____'

'Dat,' said Captain Valvick suddenly, 'is a very funny knock. Lissen!'

They stared, and Morgan felt a rather eerie sensation. The knock was a complicated one, very light and rapid, rather like a lodge signal. Valvick moved over to open it, when it began to open of itself in a rather singular and mysterious way, by sharp jerks…

'Ps-s-sst!' hissed a voice warningly.

Into the room, after a precautionary survey, darted none other than Mr. Curtis Warren. His attire was much rumpled, including torn coat and picturesquely grease-stained white flannels; his hair stood up, and there was some damage done to his countenance. But a glow of fiendish triumph shone from it. He closed the door carefully and faced them with a proud gesture.

Before they could recover from the shock of stupefaction and horror, he laughed a low, satisfied, swaggering laugh.