Chapter Thirty-Five
An intruder – Michael’s gambit – the box – the communicator – out of the frying pan – the best that could be hoped
Theatre people are not early risers, by-and-large. Other than Sminkins and an old caretaker, Michael had his run of the Imperial and could work where he pleased. Unfortunately, theatres are not designed to have a lot of windows, which limited the places in which he could paint. A deserted upstairs room turned out to have a grimy skylight, so he had set himself up there with his easel and brushes, paint and turpentine.
As he touched up a set of Grecian columns made of canvas and pine, the door to his little room opened and a face poked around the door. The newcomer was a short man, with a receding brow and no chin. He took one look at Michael, gave a buck
