“They” were obviously the managers, who had given orders, during the last entr’acte, that they were not to be disturbed on any pretext whatever. They were not in to anybody.
“All the same,” exclaimed Gabriel, “a singer isn’t run away with, from the middle of the stage, every day!”
“Did you shout that to them?” asked Mercier, impatiently.
“I’ll go back again,” said Rémy, and disappeared at a run.
Thereupon the stage-manager arrived.
“Well, M. Mercier, are you coming? What are you two doing here? You’re wanted, Mr. Acting-Manager.”
“I refuse to know or to do anything before the commissary arrives,” declared Mercier. “I have sent for Mifroid. We shall see when he comes!”
“And I tell you that you ought to go down to the organ at once.”
“Not before the commissary comes.”
“I’ve been down to the organ myself already.”
“Ah! And what did you see?”
“Well, I saw nobody! Do you hear—nobody!”
“What do you want me to go down there for?”
“You’re right!” said the stage-manager, frantically pushing his hands through his rebellious hair. “You’re right! But there might be someone at the organ who could tell us how the stage came to be suddenly darkened. Now Mauclair is nowhere to be found. Do you understand that?”