“And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. If he escapes at all, it must be before our faces. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs.
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