At ten o'clock he found himself in a corridor of the Jubilee Variety Theatre.

The young girl had vanished.
For a moment he stood debating whether he would go home and work out some ideas he had.

Or whether he would pursue the young Joy, the fugitive actuality, to the very threshold of the dawn.

Whether, in short, he would make a night of it.
He was aroused by the sound of a box-door opening and shutting; and a shining shirt-front and a shining face darted suddenly into the light.
At the same moment a voice hailed him.
"Hello, Razors! That you ?" Voice, face, and shining shirt-front belonged to Mr.Richard Pilkington, Financial Agent, of Shaftesbury Avenue.
"Razors" was the name by which Rickman was known to his intimates in subtle allusion to his youth.

He responded sulkily to the hail.