The Mystery Megapack

orchestra ceased, the theater auditorium was darkened suddenly, and the curtain went up on the third act. In his seat in the first row of the second balcony, Thubway Tham bent forward with a great deal of interest and focused his gaze on the stage. His eyes were burning, and his jaws were set rigidly. Tham was angry, had been growing angrier every time a certain actor came upon the stage.
    Now and then Thubway Tham attended a theatrical performance as a means of recreation from the arduous work of a pickpocket. Tham did not pretend to be up to the minute on things theatrical and dramatic, and when the time came for him to go to a show, Tham selected the theater he was to honor with his presence by. a certain method he had originated himself.
    At the ticket agency he walked up to the counter.
    “I want a theat in the thenter of the firtht row of the thecond balcony,” he said.
    “What theater, man?” asked the man behind the counter.
    “I don’t care what theater it ith, jutht tho you give me a theat in the thenter of the firtht row of the thecond balcony,” Thubway Tham declared.
    This time the grinning agent had handed him a ticket that called for admission to see a certain male star in his latest success, “The Under Dog.”
    Tham had heard the name of the star mentioned a few times and entertained the idea that he was an artist of parts; but beyond that he knew nothing of the professional rank and ability of the man and did not care about it. As to “The Under Dog,” Thubway Tham did not know the theme or the author, did not know what the play was about, and was not letting it worry him. Tham had the idea that a good many others have: namely, that a show must be good or it would not be on Broadway or anywhere near it.
    Tham had consulted his program, once he had been seated, and he had found nothing except a list of actors’ names and the names of the characters they were to portray. The synopsis said that the first act was in the living room of an apartment on Riverside Drive, that the second was the same the following morning, and the third a week later. Thubway Tham could not construct a plot from that, and so he waited for the curtain and left it to the actors.
    It developed that “The Under Dog” had nothing to do with canines or bench shows. It dealt with the deadly and eternal triangle, a beautiful woman and two men, one wealthy and firm in the belief that he had power, and the other a sort of weakling. Tham settled himself in his seat and tried to get the worth of the money he had spent for his ticket.
    Tham liked the male star very well, but he took an instant aversion to another gentlemanly actor billed as Booth Mansfield Merton. The aversion came into being when Merton spoke his first lines. Tham could not explain it and did not attempt to try. The aversion was not because of Booth Mansfield Merton’s work. As an actor, Merton seemed to do very well. Thubway Tham’s dislike appeared to be for the man personally, and Tham never had seen him before.
    The role Mr. Booth Mansfield Merton played this night did not assist Tham to have a friendly feeling for him, either. Merton spoke certain lines that made Tham gnash his teeth. Thubway Tham took the drama seriously; he forgot that the actors were playing parts, and he formed his opinion of an artist from the lines he spoke. Thubway Tham could not think of a villain as being anything other than a villain, either on the stage or off.
    “A man of power should exert that power,” Booth Mansfield Merton shouted from the stage. “Every man for himself. Let the under dog fight his own battle. It only weakens him the more to extend him a helping hand. Why should I refuse to declare myself superior when I know that I am?”
    Thubway Tham gasped. “Why, the thilly ath,” he whispered to himself. “The thwell-headed thimp! Thomebody thould butht him one in the nothe, tho they thould.”
    Booth Mansfield Merton had a lot of speeches similar to that one, and Thubway Tham’s dislike for him slowly but deliberately turned into deep hatred. And then, unknowingly, Booth Mansfield Merton struck home.
    “The reputed cleverness of the social parasite, the cunning of the man who lives by his wits, the skill of the pickpocket, for instance—all such things are mythical,” the actor vehemently declared. “A superior man can outwit any of them.”
    “The Thimp,” said Tham to himself. “Thuperior, ith he? Oh, the thilly ath! If he ever cometh thouth of