The stalls had not yet entirely lost their self-control. Alarm was in the air, but for the moment they hung on the razor-edge between panic and dignity. Panic urged them to do something sudden and energetic: dignity counselled them to wait. They, like the occupants of the gallery, greatly desired to be outside, but it was bad form to rush and jostle. The men were assisting the women into their cloaks, assuring them the while that it was “all right” and that they must not be frightened. But another curl of smoke had crept out just before the asbestos curtain completed its descent, and their words lacked the ring of conviction. The movement towards the exits had not yet become a stampede, but already those with seats nearest the stage had begun to feel that the more fortunate individuals near the doors were infernally slow in removing themselves. 

 Suddenly, as if by mutual inspiration, the composure of the stalls began to slip. Looking from above, one could have seen a sort of shudder run through the crowd. It was the effect of every member of that crowd starting to move a little more quickly. 

 A hand grasped Jill’s arm. It was a comforting hand, the hand of a man who had not lost his head. A pleasant voice backed up its message of reassurance. 

 “It’s no good getting into that mob. You might get hurt. There’s no danger: the play isn’t going on.” 

 Jill was shaken: but she had the fighting spirit and hated to show that she was shaken. Panic was knocking at the door of her soul, but dignity refused to be dislodged. 

 “All the same,” she said, smiling a difficult smile, “it would be nice to get out, wouldn’t it?” 

 “I was just going to suggest something of that very sort,” said the man beside her. “The same thought occurred to me. We can stroll out quite comfortably by our own private route. Come along.” 

 Jill looked over her shoulder. Derek and Lady Underhill were merged into the mass of refugees. She could not see them. For an instant a little spasm of pique stung her at the thought that Derek had deserted her. She groped her way after her companion, and presently they came by way of a lower box to the iron pass-door leading to the stage. 

 As it opened, smoke blew through, and the smell of burning was formidable. Jill recoiled involuntarily. 

 “It’s all right,” said her companion. “It smells worse than it really is. And, anyway, this 

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