All eyes were fixed on the wing of the platform, all hands were ready to give welcome.

But a minute passed--two minutes--three minutes--and Zelie de Longarde did not appear.

Another minute--and then, endeavouring to smile bravely and reassuringly, and not succeeding particularly well in the attempt, a tall, elaborately attired, carefully polished-up man, unmistakably German, blonde, heavy, suave, suddenly walked on to the platform and did obeisance to the audience.
"Weiss!" whispered Fullaway.

"Something's wrong! Look at his face--he's in big trouble." The concert-director straightened himself from that semi-military bow, and looked at the faces in front of him with a mute appeal.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I have to entreat the high favour of your kind indulgence.

Mademoiselle de Longarde is not yet arrived from her hotel.