I sat through the next act in this condition.  Then I could stand it no longer.  I felt that I might end by making myself objectionable, and that, after all, it was far wiser to be safe at home, than sitting in the theatre where I occupied myself in staring at but one person.

I made my way slowly up the aisle and into the foyer, and had nearly reached the outer lobby, when I suddenly felt sure that he was near.

I looked up!

Yes, there he was, and he was looking me directly in the face again.  An odd smile came into his eyes.  He nodded to me as he approached, and, with a quaint shake of the head, said:  “I just made a wager with myself.  I bet that if I encountered you in the lobby, without actually seeking you, and you saw me, I’d speak to you—­and ask a favor of you.  I am going to win that wager.”

He did not seem to expect me to answer him.  He simply turned beside me, thrust his arm carelessly through mine, and moved with me toward the exit.

“Let us step outside a moment,” he said.  It was easy to understand why.  The hero of the night before could not hope to pass unnoted.

He stepped into the street.

It was a moonlit night.  I remember that distinctly.

He lighted his cigarette, and held his case toward me.  I shook my head.  I had no desire to smoke.

We walked a few steps together in silence before he said:  “I am trying to frame a most unusual request so that it may not seem too fantastic to you.  It is more difficult than writing a fugue.  The truth is—­I have gotten myself into a bit of a fix—­and I want to guard against its turning into something worse than that.  I need some man’s assistance to extricate myself.”

I probably looked alarmed.  Those forebears of mine will intrude when I am taken by surprise.  He saw it, and said, quickly:  “It is nothing that a man, willing to be of service to me, need balk at; nothing, in fact, that a chivalrous man would not be glad to do.  You may not think very well of me afterward, but be sure you will never regret the act.  I was in sore need of a friend.  There was none at hand—­if such as I ever have friends.  Suddenly I saw you.  I remembered your violin as I heard it behind me last night—­an Amati, I fancy?”

I nodded assent.

“A beautiful instrument.  I may some day ask you to let me try it—­you and I can never be quite strangers after to-night.”

He paused, pounded the side-walk with his stick, impatiently, as if the long preamble made him as nervous as it did me.  Then, looking me in the face, he said rapidly:  “This is it.  When I leave the box, after the next act, do you follow me.  Stay by me, no matter what happens.  Stick to me, even though I ask you to leave me, so long as there is any one with me.  Do more—­stay by me, until, in your room or mine, you and I sit down together, and—­well, I will explain what must, until then, seem either mad or ridiculous.  Is that clear?”