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Python 3 Object-Oriented Programming
Third Edition

Build robust and maintainable software with object-oriented design

patterns in Python 3.8

Dusty Phillips
BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI
Python 3 Object-Oriented
Programming Third Edition
Copyright © 2018 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
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Neither the author, nor Packt Publishing or its dealers and distributors, will be held liable for any damages
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Contributors
About the author
Dusty Phillips is a Canadian software developer and author
currently living in New Brunswick. He has been active in the open
source community for two decades and has been programming in
Python for nearly as long. He holds a master's degree in computer
science and has worked for Facebook, the United Nations, and
several start-ups. He's currently researching privacy-preserving
technology at beanstalk.network.

Python 3 Object-Oriented Programming was his first book. He has

also written Creating Apps in Kivy, and self-published Hacking
Happy, a journey to mental wellness for the technically inclined. A
work of fiction is coming as well, so stay tuned!
About the reviewers
Yogendra Sharma is a developer with experience of the
architecture, design, and development of scalable and distributed
applications. He was awarded a bachelor's degree from Rajasthan
Technical University in computer science. With a core interest in
microservices and Spring, he also has hands-on experience
technologies such as AWS Cloud, Python, J2EE, Node.js, JavaScript,
Angular, MongoDB, and Docker. Currently, he works as an IoT and
cloud architect at Intelizign Engineering Services, Pune.

Josh Smith has been coding professionally in Python, JavaScript,

and C# for over 5 years, but has loved programming since learning
Pascal over 20 years ago. Python is his default language for personal
and professional projects. He believes code should be simple, goal-
oriented, and maintainable. Josh works in data automation and lives
in St. Louis, Missouri, with his wife and two children.
Packt is searching for authors
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Table of Contents
Title Page

Copyright and Credits

Python 3 Object-Oriented Programming Third Edition

Packt Upsell

Why subscribe?

Packt.com

Contributors

About the author

About the reviewers

Packt is searching for authors like you

Preface

Who this book is for

What this book covers

To get the most out of this book

Download the example code files

Conventions used

Get in touch

Reviews

1. Object-Oriented Design

Introducing object-oriented

Objects and classes

Specifying attributes and behaviors

Data describes objects

Behaviors are actions

Hiding details and creating the public interface

Composition

Inheritance

Inheritance provides abstraction

Multiple inheritance

Case study

Exercises
 Summary

2. Objects in Python

Creating Python classes

Adding attributes

Making it do something

Talking to yourself

More arguments

Initializing the object

Explaining yourself

Modules and packages

Organizing modules

Absolute imports

Relative imports

Organizing module content

Who can access my data?

Third-party libraries

Case study

Exercises

Summary

3. When Objects Are Alike

Basic inheritance

Extending built-ins

Overriding and super

Multiple inheritance

The diamond problem

Different sets of arguments

Polymorphism
Abstract base classes

Using an abstract base class

Creating an abstract base class

Demystifying the magic

Case study

Exercises
Summary

4. Expecting the Unexpected

Raising exceptions
 Raising an exception
The effects of an exception

Handling exceptions
The exception hierarchy

Defining our own exceptions

Case study

Exercises
Summary

5. When to Use Object-Oriented Programming

Treat objects as objects

Adding behaviors to class data with properties

Properties in detail

Decorators – another way to create properties

Deciding when to use properties

Manager objects
Removing duplicate code

In practice
Case study

Exercises
Summary

6. Python Data Structures

Empty objects

Tuples and named tuples

Named tuples

Dataclasses
Dictionaries

Dictionary use cases

Using defaultdict

Counter
Lists

Sorting lists
Sets

Extending built-in functions

Case study

Exercises
Summary
7. Python Object-Oriented Shortcuts
Python built-in functions

The len() function

Reversed

Enumerate
File I/O
Placing it in context

An alternative to method overloading

Default arguments
Variable argument lists
Unpacking arguments

Functions are objects too

Using functions as attributes
Callable objects
Case study

Exercises
Summary
8. Strings and Serialization
Strings

String manipulation
String formatting
Escaping braces
f-strings can contain Python code

Making it look right

Custom formatters
The format method
Strings are Unicode

Converting bytes to text

Converting text to bytes
Mutable byte strings
Regular expressions

Matching patterns
Matching a selection of characters
Escaping characters
Matching multiple characters

Grouping patterns together

 Getting information from regular expressions
Making repeated regular expressions efficient
Filesystem paths

Serializing objects
Customizing pickles
Serializing web objects

Case study
Exercises
Summary
9. The Iterator Pattern

Design patterns in brief

Iterators
The iterator protocol
Comprehensions

List comprehensions
Set and dictionary comprehensions
Generator expressions
Generators

Yield items from another iterable

Coroutines
Back to log parsing
Closing coroutines and throwing exceptions

The relationship between coroutines, generators, and functions

Case study
Exercises
Summary

10. Python Design Patterns I

The decorator pattern
A decorator example
Decorators in Python

The observer pattern

An observer example
The strategy pattern
A strategy example

Strategy in Python
The state pattern
 A state example
State versus strategy

State transition as coroutines

The singleton pattern
Singleton implementation
Module variables can mimic singletons

The template pattern

A template example
Exercises
Summary

11. Python Design Patterns II

The adapter pattern
The facade pattern
The flyweight pattern

The command pattern

The abstract factory pattern
The composite pattern
Exercises

Summary
12. Testing Object-Oriented Programs
Why test?
Test-driven development

Unit testing
Assertion methods
Reducing boilerplate and cleaning up
Organizing and running tests

Ignoring broken tests

Testing with pytest
One way to do setup and cleanup
A completely different way to set up variables

Skipping tests with pytest

Imitating expensive objects
How much testing is enough?
Case study

Implementing it
Exercises
 Summary
13. Concurrency

Threads
The many problems with threads
Shared memory
The global interpreter lock

Thread overhead
Multiprocessing
Multiprocessing pools
Queues

The problems with multiprocessing

Futures

AsyncIO

AsyncIO in action
Reading an AsyncIO Future

AsyncIO for networking

Using executors to wrap blocking code

Streams

Executors
AsyncIO clients

Case study

Exercises
Summary

Other Books You May Enjoy

Leave a review - let other readers know what you think

Preface
This book introduces the terminology of the object-oriented
paradigm. It focuses on object-oriented design with step-by-step
examples. It guides us from simple inheritance, one of the most
useful tools in the object-oriented programmer's toolbox, through
exception handling to design patterns, an object-oriented way of
looking at object-oriented concepts.

Along the way, we'll learn how to integrate the object-oriented and
the not-so-object-oriented aspects of the Python programming
language. We will learn the complexities of string and file
manipulation, emphasizing the difference between binary and textual
data.

We'll then cover the joys of unit testing, using not one, but two unit
testing frameworks. Finally, we'll explore, through Python's various
concurrency paradigms, how to make objects work well together at
the same time.

Each chapter includes relevant examples and a case study that

collects the chapter's contents into a working (if not complete)
program.
Who this book is for
This book specifically targets people who are new to object-oriented
programming. It assumes you have basic Python skills. You'll learn
object-oriented principles in depth. It is particularly useful for system
administrators who have used Python as a glue language and would
like to improve their programming skills.

Alternatively, if you are familiar with object-oriented programming in

other languages, then this book will help you understand the
idiomatic ways to apply your knowledge in the Python ecosystem.
What this book covers
This book is loosely divided into four major parts. In the first four
chapters, we will dive into the formal principles of object-oriented
programming and how Python leverages them. In Chapter 5, When to
Use Object-Oriented Programming, through Chapter 8, Strings and
Serialization, we will cover some of Python's idiosyncratic
applications of these principles by learning how they are applied to a
variety of Python's built-in functions. Chapter 9, The Iterator Pattern,
through Chapter 11, Python Design Patterns II, cover design patterns,
and the final two chapters discuss two bonus topics related to
Python programming that may be of interest.

, Object-Oriented Design, covers important object-oriented

Chapter 1

concepts. It deals mainly with terminology such as abstraction,

classes, encapsulation, and inheritance. We also briefly look at UML
to model our classes and objects.

, Objects in Python, discusses classes and objects as they are

Chapter 2

used in Python. We will learn about attributes and behaviors of

Python objects, and the organization of classes into packages and
modules. Lastly, we will see how to protect our data.

, When Objects Are Alike, gives us a more in-depth look into

Chapter 3

inheritance. It covers multiple inheritance and shows us how to

extend built-in. This chapter also covers how polymorphism and
duck typing work in Python.

, Expecting the Unexpected, looks into exceptions and

Chapter 4

exception handling. We will learn how to create our own exceptions

and how to use exceptions for program flow control.

, When to Use Object-Oriented Programming, deals with

Chapter 5

creating and using objects. We will see how to wrap data using
properties and restrict data access. This chapter also discusses the
DRY principle and how not to repeat code.

, Python Data Structures, covers the object-oriented features

Chapter 6

of Python's built-in classes. We'll cover tuples, dictionaries, lists, and

sets, as well as a few more advanced collections. We'll also see how
to extend these standard objects.

, Python Object-Oriented Shortcuts, as the name suggests,

Chapter 7

deals with time-savers in Python. We will look at many useful built-in

functions, such as method overloading using default arguments.
We'll also see that functions themselves are objects and how this is
useful.

, Strings and Serialization, looks at strings, files, and

Chapter 8

formatting. We'll discuss the difference between strings, bytes, and

byte arrays, as well as various ways to serialize textual, object, and
binary data to several canonical representations.

, The Iterator Pattern, introduces the concept of design

Chapter 9

patterns and covers Python's iconic implementation of the iterator

pattern. We'll learn about list, set, and dictionary comprehensions.
We'll also demystify generators and coroutines.

, Python Design Patterns I, covers several design patterns,

Chapter 10
including the decorator, observer, strategy, state, singleton, and
template patterns. Each pattern is discussed with suitable examples
and programs implemented in Python.

, Python Design Patterns II, wraps up our discussion of

Chapter 11

design patterns with coverage of the adapter, facade, flyweight,

command, abstract, and composite patterns. More examples of how
idiomatic Python code differs from canonical implementations are
provided.

, Testing Object-Oriented Programs, opens with why testing

Chapter 12

is so important in Python applications. It focuses on test-driven

development and introduces two different testing suites: unittest and
py.test. Finally, it discusses mocking test objects and code coverage.

, Concurrency, is a whirlwind tour of Python's support (and

Chapter 13

lack thereof) of concurrency patterns. It discusses threads,

multiprocessing, futures, and the modern AsyncIO library.
To get the most out of this
book
All the examples in this book rely on the Python 3 interpreter. Make
sure you are not using Python 2.7 or earlier. At the time of writing,
Python 3.7 was the latest release of Python. Many examples will
work on earlier revisions of Python 3, but you'll likely experience a
lot of frustration if you're using anything older than 3.5.

All of the examples should run on any operating system supported

by Python. If this is not the case, please report it as a bug.

Some of the examples need a working internet connection. You'll

probably want to have one of these for extracurricular research and
debugging anyway!

In addition, some of the examples in this book rely on third-party

libraries that do not ship with Python. They are introduced within the
book at the time they are used, so you do not need to install them in
advance.
Download the example code
files
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We also have other code bundles from our rich catalog of books and
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Conventions used
There are a number of text conventions used throughout this book.

: Indicates code words in text, database table names, folder

CodeInText

names, filenames, file extensions, pathnames, dummy URLs, user

input, and Twitter handles. Here is an example: "Mount the
downloaded WebStorm-10*.dmg disk image file as another disk in your
system."

A block of code is set as follows:

class Point: def __init__(self, x=0, y=0): self.move(x, y)

When we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code

block, the relevant lines or items are set in bold:
import database
db = database.Database()
# Do queries on db

Any command-line input or output is written as follows:

>>> print(secret_string._SecretString__plain_string)
ACME: Top Secret

Bold: Indicates a new term, an important word, or words that you

see onscreen. For example, words in menus or dialog boxes appear
in the text like this. Here is an example: "Most object-oriented
programming languages have the concept of a constructor."
Warnings or important notes appear like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.

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Feedback from our readers is always welcome.

General feedback: Email feedback@packtpub.com and mention the book

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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Seven
Conundrums
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Seven Conundrums

Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim

Illustrator: Wallace Morgan

Release date: April 3, 2019 [eBook #59198]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David T. Jones, woodie4, Al Haines & the online

Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEVEN

CONUNDRUMS ***
 "So!" she whispered. "They will
know from whom that rose comes."
Frontispiece.
See page 148.
 THE
SEVEN CONUNDRUMS

BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

WALLACE MORGAN

TORONTO

McCLELLAND AND STEWART

1923

Copyright, 1923,
By Little, Brown, and Company.

All rights reserved

Published February, 1923

Printed in the United States of America

 CONTENTS
Introduction
PAGE
The Compact 3
Conundrum Number One
The Stolen Minute Book 15
Conundrum Number Two
What Happened at Bath 39
Conundrum Number Three
The Spider's Parlour 97
Conundrum Number Four
The Courtship of Naida 131
Conundrum Number Five
The Tragedy at Greymarshes 167
Conundrum Number Six
The Duke's Dilemma 205
Conundrum Number Seven
The Greatest Argument 243
 ILLUSTRATIONS
"So!" she whispered. "They will know
from whom that rose comes" Frontispiece
PAGE
There were shrieks from the women, and some of
the men, amongst them myself, hurried towards
the staircase 65
"Don't be a fool," I answered. "There's a
submerged rock right across here" 191
There seemed to be an almost universal gasp of
astonishment 216
THE SEVEN CONUNDRUMS
 INTRODUCTION
THE COMPACT
The wind, storming up from the sea, beat against the frail little
wooden building till every rafter creaked and groaned. The canvas
sides flapped and strained madly at the imprisoning ropes. Those
hanging lamps which were not already extinguished swung in
perilous arcs. In the auditorium of the frail little temporary theatre,
only one man lingered near the entrance, and he, as we well knew,
with sinister purpose. In the little make-up room behind the stage,
we three performers, shorn of our mummer's disguise, presented
perhaps the most melancholy spectacle of all. The worst of it was
that Leonard and I were all broken up with trying to make the best
of the situation for Rose's sake, yet prevented by circumstances from
altogether ignoring it.
"Seems to me we're in rather a tightish corner, Leonard," I ventured,
watching that grim figure in the doorway through a hole in the
curtain.
"First turn to the left off Queer Street," Leonard admitted gloomily.
Rose said nothing. She was seated in the one chair which went with
the portable property, and her head had fallen forward upon her
arms, which were stretched upon the deal table. Her hat, a poor
little woollen tam-o'-shanter, was pushed back from her head. Her
jacket was unfastened. The rain beat down upon the tin roof.
"I'd sell my soul for a whisky and soda," Leonard, our erstwhile
humourist, declared wistfully.
"And I mine," I echoed, thinking of Rose, "for a good supper, a warm
fire and a comfortable bed."
"And I mine," Rose faltered, looking up and dabbing at her eyes with
a morsel of handkerchief, "for a cigarette."
There was a clap of thunder. The flap of canvas which led to the
back of the stage shook as though the whole place were coming
down. We looked up apprehensively and found that we were no
longer alone. A clean-shaven man of medium height, dressed in a
long mackintosh and carrying a tweed cap in his hand, had
succeeded in effecting a difficult entrance. His appearance, even at
that time, puzzled us. His face was perfectly smooth, he was inclined
to be bald, his eyes were unusually bright, and there was a
noticeable curve at the corners of his lips which might have meant
either humour or malevolence. We had no idea what to make of him.
One thing was certain, however,—he was not the man an interview
with whom we were dreading.
"Mephistopheles himself could scarcely have made a more
opportune entrance," he remarked, as the crash of thunder subsided
into a distant mutter. "Permit me."
He crossed towards us with a courteous little bow and extended a
gold cigarette case, amply filled. Rose took one without hesitation
and lit it. We also helped ourselves. The newcomer replaced the
case in his pocket.
"I will take the liberty," he continued, "of introducing myself. My
name is Richard Thomson."
"A very excellent name," Leonard murmured.
"A more than excellent cigarette," I echoed.
"You are the gentleman who sat in the three-shilling seats," Rose
remarked, looking at him curiously.
Mr. Richard Thomson bowed.
"I was there last night and the night before," he acknowledged. "On
each occasion I found with regret that I was alone."
No one likes to be reminded of failure. I answered a little hastily.
"You have established your position, sir, as a patron of our ill-
omened enterprise. May I ask to what we are indebted for the
honour of this visit?"
"In the first place, to invite you all to supper," was the brisk reply.
"Secondly, to ask if I can be of any service in helping you to get rid
of that bearded rascal Drummond, whom I see hanging about at the
entrance. And in the third place—but I think," he added, after a
queer and oddly prolonged pause, "that we might leave that till
afterwards."
I stared at him like a booby, for I was never a believer in miracles.
The quiver on Rose's lips was almost pathetic, for like all sweet-
natured women she was an optimist to the last degree. Leonard, I
could see, shared my incredulity. The thing didn't seem possible, for
although he was obviously a man of means, and although his
manner was convincing and there was a smile upon his lips, Mr.
Richard Thomson did not look in the least like a philanthropist.
"Come, come," the latter continued, "mine is a serious offer. Are you
afraid that I shall need payment for my help and hospitality? What
more could you have to give than the souls you proffered so freely
as I came in?"
"You can have mine," Leonard assured him hastily.
"Mine also is at your service," I told him. "The only trouble seems to
be to reduce it to a negotiable medium."
"We will make that a subject of discussion later on," our new friend
declared. "Mr. Lister," he added, turning to me, "may I take it for
granted that you are the business head of this enterprise? How do
you stand?"
I choked down the pitiful remnants of my pride and answered him
frankly.
"We are in the worst plight three human beings could possibly find
themselves in. We've played here for six nights, and we haven't
taken enough money to pay for the lighting. We owe the bill at our
lodgings, we haven't a scrap of food, a scrap of drink, a scrap of
tobacco, a scrap of credit. We've nothing to pawn, and Drummond
outside wants four pounds."
"That settles it," our visitor declared curtly. "Follow me."
We obeyed him dumbly. It is my belief that we should have obeyed
any one helplessly at that moment, whether they had ordered us to
set fire to the place or to stand on our heads. We saw Drummond go
off into the darkness, gripping in his hand unexpected money, and
followed our guide across the windy space which led to the brilliantly
lit front of the Grand Hotel, whose luxurious portals we passed for
the first time. We had a tangled impression of bowing servants, an
amiable lift man, a short walk along a carpeted corridor, a door
thrown open, a comfortable sitting room and a blazing fire, a round
table laid for four, a sideboard set out with food, and gold-foiled
bottles of champagne. A waiter bustled in after us and set down a
tureen of smoking hot soup.
"You needn't wait," our host ordered, taking off his mackintosh and
straightening his black evening bow in the glass. "Miss Mindel, allow
me to take your jacket. Sit on this side of the table, near the fire;
you there, Cotton, and you opposite me, Lister. We will just start the
proceedings so," he went on, cutting the wires of a bottle of
champagne and pouring out its contents. "A little soup first, eh, and
then I'll carve. Miss Mindel—gentlemen—your very good health. I
drink to our better acquaintance."
Rose's hand shook and I could see that she was on the verge of
tears. It is my belief that nothing but our host's matter-of-fact
manner saved her at that moment from a breakdown. Leonard and
I, too, made our poor little efforts at unsentimental cheerfulness.
"If this is hell," the former declared, eyeing the chickens hungrily,
"I'm through with earth."
"Drink your wine, Rose," I advised, raising my own glass, "and
remember the mummers' philosophy."
Rose wiped away the tears, emptied her glass of champagne and
smiled.
"Nothing in the world," she declared fervently, "ever smelt or tasted
so good as this soup."
The psychological effect of food, wine, warmth and tobacco upon
three gently nurtured but half-starved human beings became even
more evident at a later stage in the evening. Its immediate
manifestations, however, were little short of remarkable. For my
part, I forgot entirely the agony of the last few weeks, and realised
once more with complacent optimism the adventurous possibilities of
our vagabond life. Leonard, with flushed cheeks, a many times
refilled glass, and a big cigar in the corner of his mouth, had without
the slightest doubt completely forgotten the misery of having to try
and be funny on an empty stomach to an insufficient audience. With
a little colour in her cheeks, a smile once more upon her lips, and a
sparkle in her grey eyes, Rose was once more herself, the most
desirable and attractive young woman in the world as, alas! both
Leonard and I had discovered. The only person who remained
unmoved, either by the bounty he was dispensing or by the wine
and food of which he also partook, was the giver of the feast.
Sphinxlike, at times almost saturnine looking, his eyes taking
frequent and restless note of us, his mouth, with its queer upward
curve, a constant puzzle, he remained as mysterious a benefactor
when the meal was finished as when he had made his ominous
appearance behind the stage at the framework theatre. He was an
attentive although a silent host. It was never apparent that his
thoughts were elsewhere, and I, watching him more closely,
perhaps, than the other two, realised that most of the time he was
living in a world of his own, in which we three guests were very
small puppets indeed.
Cigars were lit, chairs were drawn around the fire, Rose was
installed on a superlatively comfortable couch, with a box of
cigarettes at her elbow, and her favourite liqueur, untasted for many
weeks, at her side.
"Let me try your wits," our host proposed, a little abruptly. "Tell me
your life history in as few words as possible. Mr. Lister? Tabloid form,
if you please?"
"Clergyman's son, without a shilling in the family," I replied; "straight
from the 'Varsity, where I had meant to work hard for a degree, to
the Army, where after three and a half years of it I lost this,"—
touching my empty left coat sleeve. "Tried six months for a job,
without success. Heard of a chap who had made a concert party
pay, realised that my only gifts were a decent voice and some idea
of dancing, so had a shot at it myself."
"Mr. Cotton?"
"Idle and dissolute son of a wine merchant at Barnstaple who failed
during the war," Leonard expounded; "drifted into this sort of thing
because I'd made some small successes locally and didn't want to be
a clerk."
"Miss Mindel?"
The girl shook her head.
"I am quite alone in the world," she said. "My mother taught music
at Torquay and she died quite suddenly. I put my name down for a
concert party, and in a way I was very fortunate," she added,
glancing sweetly at Leonard and at me. "These two men have been
so dear to me and I don't think it's any one's fault that we're such a
failure. The weather's been bad, and people stay in their hotels and
dance all the time now."
She held out a hand to each of us. She knew perfectly well how we
both felt, and she treated us always just like that, as though she
understood and realised the compact which Leonard and I had
made. So we sat, linked together, as it were, while our host studied
us thoughtfully, appreciating, without a doubt, our air of somewhat
nervous expectancy. A fine sense of psychology guided him to the
conviction that we were in a properly receptive state of mind. The
smile which had first puzzled us played once more upon his lips.
"And now," he said, "about those souls!"
 CONUNDRUM NUMBER ONE
THE STOLEN MINUTE BOOK
Rose always insisted that she was psychic, and I have some faith
myself in presentiments. At any rate, we both declared, on that
Monday night before the curtain went up, that something was going
to happen. Leonard had no convictions of the sort himself but he
was favourably disposed towards our attitude. He put the matter
succinctly.
"Here we are," he pointed out, "sold to the devil, body and soul, and
if the old boy doesn't make some use of us, I shall begin to be afraid
the whole thing's coming to an end. Five pounds a week, and a
reserve fund for costumes and posters suits me very nicely, thank
you."
"I don't think you need worry," I told him. "It doesn't seem
reasonable to imagine that we've been sent to the slums of Liverpool
for nothing."
"Then there are those posters," Rose put in, "offering prizes to
amateurs. I'm quite certain there's some method in that. Besides
——"
She hesitated. We both pressed her to go on.
"You'll think this silly, but for the last three nights I've had a queer
sort of feeling that Mr. Thomson was somewhere in the audience. I
can't explain it. I looked everywhere for him. I even tried looking at
the people one by one, all down the rows. I never saw any one in
the least like him. All the same, I expected to hear his voice at any
moment."
"Granted the old boy's Satanic connections," Leonard observed, "he
may appear to us in any form. Brimstone and horns are clean out of
date. He'll probably send his disembodied voice with instructions."
I strolled to the wings and had a look at the house. Although it still
wanted a quarter of an hour before the performance was due to
commence, the hall was almost packed with people. The audience,
as was natural considering the locality, was a pretty tough lot. It
seemed to consist chiefly of stewards and sailors from the great
liners which lay in the river near by, with a sprinkling of operatives
and some of the smaller shopkeepers. The study of faces has always
interested me, and there were two which I picked out from the
crowd during that brief survey and remembered. One was the face
of a youngish man, dressed in the clothes of a labourer and seated
in a dark corner of the room. He was very pale, almost consumptive-
looking, with a black beard which looked as though it had been
recently grown, and coal black hair. His features were utterly unlike
the features of his presumed class, and there was a certain
furtiveness about his expression which puzzled me. A quietly dressed
girl sat by his side, whose face was even more in the shadow than
his, but it struck me that she had been crying, and that for some
reason or other there was a disagreement between her and the
young man. The other person whom I noticed was a stout, middle-
aged man, with curly black hair, a rather yellow complexion, of
distinctly Semitic appearance. His hands were folded upon his
waistcoat, he was smoking with much obvious enjoyment a large
cigar, and his eyes were half-closed, as though he were enjoying a
brief rest. I put him down as a small shopkeeper, for choice a seller
of ready-made garments, who had had a long day's work and was
giving himself a treat on the strength of it.
At half-past seven the hall was crammed and the curtain rang up.
We went through the first part of our programme with a reasonable
amount of success, Leonard in particular getting two encores for one
of his humorous songs. At the beginning of the second part, I came
out upon the stage and made the little speech which our mysterious
patron's wishes rendered necessary.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, "I have much pleasure in
announcing, according to our posters outside, that if there are any
amateurs here willing to try their luck upon the stage, either with a
song or a dance, we shall be very happy to provide them with music
and any slight change of costume. A prize of one pound will be given
to the performer whose song meets with the greatest approval, and
a second prize of five shillings for the next most successful item."
I gagged on for a few more minutes, trying to encourage those
whom I thought likely aspirants, amidst the laughter and cheers of
the audience. Presently a showily dressed young woman threw aside
a cheap fur cloak, displaying a low-cut blue satin gown, jumped
nimbly on to the stage, ignoring my outstretched hand, and held out
a roll of music to Rose, who came smilingly from the background.
"I'll try 'The Old Folks down Wapping Way', dear," she announced,
"and don't you hurry me when the sloppy stuff comes. I like to give
'em time for a snivel or two. Sit you down at the piano. I'm that
nervous, I can't stand fussing about here."
They bent over the music together and I turned back to the
audience. There were only two others who showed any disposition
to follow the example of the lady in blue satin. One was the young
man whom I had previously noticed, and who had now risen to his
feet. It was obvious that the girl by his side was doing all she could
to dissuade him from his purpose. I could almost hear the sob in her
throat as she tried to drag him back to his place. I myself felt
curiously indisposed to interfere, but Leonard, who was standing by
my side, and who saw them for the first time, imagining that a word
of encouragement was all that was necessary, concluded the
business.
"Come along, sir," he called out. "You look as though you had a good
tenor voice, and nothing fetches 'em like it. You let him come, my
dear, and he'll buy you a new hat with the money."
The young man shook himself free and stepped on to the platform,
obviously ill at ease at the cheer which his enterprise evoked. He
was followed, to my surprise, by the middle-aged man whom I had
previously noticed.
"Here, Mister," was his greeting, as he stepped on to the platform,
"I'll have a go at 'em. Sheeny patter and a clog dance, eh?"
"You must find me some sort of a change," the young man insisted
hurriedly.
"And I'll tidy up a bit myself," his rival observed. "We'll let the gal
have first go."
I conducted them behind and showed the young man into the men's
dressing room.
"You'll find an old dress suit of mine there," I pointed out. "Change
as quickly as you can. I don't fancy the young lady will hold them for
long."
He nodded and drew me a little on one side. His manner was
distinctly uneasy, and his clothes were shabbier even than they had
seemed at a distance, but his voice was the voice of a person of
education, pleasant, notwithstanding a queer, rather musical accent
which at the moment was unfamiliar to me.
"Shall I be able to lock my things up?" he asked, in an undertone.
"No offence," he went on hastily, "only I happen to be carrying
something rather valuable about with me."
I handed him the key of the dressing room, for which he thanked
me.
"How long will that screeching woman be?" he asked impatiently.
"You can go on directly she's finished murdering this one," I
promised him. "I don't think they'll stand any more."
He nodded, and I turned back towards where the other aspirant was
standing in the shadow of the wings.
"Now what can I do for you, sir?" I asked. "I don't think you need to
change, do you?"
There was no immediate reply. Suddenly I felt a little shiver, and I
had hard work to keep back the exclamation from my lips. I knew
now that Rose had been right. It was a very wonderful disguise, but
our master had at last appeared. He drew a little nearer to me. Even
then, although I knew that it was Richard Thomson, I could see
nothing but the Jew shopkeeper.
"I shall pretend to make some slight change behind that screen," he
said in a low tone. "Come back here when you've taken him on the
stage. I may want you."
He disappeared behind a screen a few feet away, and I stood there
like a dazed man. From the stage I could still hear the lusty contralto
of the young lady candidate. I heard her finish her song amidst
moderate applause, chiefly contributed by a little group of her
supporters. There was a brief pause. The young lady obliged with an
encore. Then the door of the men's dressing room opened, was
closed and locked. The young man, looking a little haggard but
remarkably handsome, came towards me, clenching the key in his
hand.
"I was a fool to take this on," he confided nervously. "You are sure
my things will be all right in there?"
I pointed to the key in his hand.
"You have every assurance of it," I told him.
He fidgeted about, listening with obvious suffering to the girl's
raucous voice.
"Ever been in the profession?" I enquired.
"Never," was the hasty reply.
"What's your line to-night?"
"Tenor. Your pianist will be able to do what I want. I've heard her."
"If you win the prize, do you want a job?" I asked, more for the sake
of making conversation than from any real curiosity.
He shook his head.
"I've other work on."
"Down at the docks?"
"That's of no consequence, is it?" was the somewhat curt reply.
—"There, she's finished, thank heavens! Let me get this over."
I escorted him to the wings. The young lady, amidst a little volley of
good-natured chaff, jumped off the stage and returned to her
friends. Her successor crossed quickly towards Rose, who was still
seated at the piano. I slipped back behind the scenes. Mr. Richard
Thomson was examining the lock of the men's dressing room.
"He's got the key," I told him.
There was no reply. Then I saw that our patron held something in
his hand made of steel, which glittered in the light of an electric
torch which he had just turned towards the keyhole. A moment later
the door was opened and he disappeared. Out on the stage, Rose
was playing the first chords of a well-known Irish ballad. Then the
young man began to sing, and, notwithstanding my state of
excitement, I found myself listening with something like awe. The
silence in the hall was of itself an extraordinary tribute to the singer.
Shuffling of feet, whispering and coughing had ceased. I felt myself
holding my own breath, listening to those long, sweet notes with
their curious, underlying surge of passion. Then I heard Mr.
Thomson's voice in my ear, curt and brisk.
"You've a telephone somewhere. Where is it?"
"In the passage," I pointed out.
He disappeared and returned just as a roar of applause greeted the
conclusion of the song. The young man hurried in from the stage.
The Jew shopkeeper was seated in the same chair, with his hands in
his pockets and a disconsolate expression upon his face. Outside,
the audience was literally yelling for an encore.
"You'll have to sing again," I told him.
"I don't want to," he declared passionately. "I was a fool to come."
"Nonsense!" I protested, for the uproar outside was becoming
unbearable. "Listen! They'll have the place down if you don't."
"I sha'n't go on," his rival competitor grumbled sombrely, thrusting a
cigar into his mouth and feeling in his pockets for a match. "You've
queered my pitch all right. They're all Irish down in this quarter.
You've fairly got 'em by the throat."
The young man stood still for a moment, listening to the strange
cries which came from the excited audience. Suddenly inspiration
seemed to come to him. His eyes flashed. He turned away and
strode out on to the stage almost with the air of a man possessed by
some holy purpose. I followed him to the wings, and from there I
had a wonderful view of all that happened during the next few
minutes. The young man stood in the middle of the stage, waved his
hand towards Rose, to intimate that he needed no music, waited for
a few more moments with half-closed eyes and a strange smile upon
his face, and commenced to sing. I realised then what inspiration
meant. He sang against his will, carried away by an all-conquering
emotion, sang in Gaelic, a strange, rhythmic chant, full of deep,
sweet notes, but having in it something almost Oriental in its lack of
compass and superficial monotony. Again the silence was amazing,
only this time, as the song went on, several of the women began to
sob, and a dozen or more men in the audience stood up. Afterwards
I knew what that song meant. It was the Hymn of Revolution, and
every line was a curse.
From my place in the wings I was able to follow better, perhaps,
than any one else in the room, the events of the next sixty seconds.
I saw two policemen push their way along the stone passage, past
the box office and into the back of the hall, led by a man in plain
clothes, a stalwart, determined-looking man with a look of the
hunter in his face. Almost at the same moment the singer saw them.
His song appeared somehow to become suspended in the air, ceased
so abruptly that there seemed something inhuman in the breaking
off of so wonderful a strain. He stood gazing at the slowly
approaching figures like a man stricken sick and paralysed with fear.
Then, without a word, he left the stage, pushed past me, sprang for
the dressing room, and, turning the key in the lock, disappeared
inside. I followed him for a few yards and then hesitated. Behind, I
could hear the heavy, slowly moving footsteps of the police, making
their way with difficulty through the crowd, a slight altercation, the
stern voice of the detective in charge. Then, facing me, the young
man emerged from the dressing room, ghastly pale, shaking the
coat in which he had arrived, distraught, furious, like a man who
looks upon madness. Mr. Richard Thomson leaned back in his chair,
his mouth open, his whole attitude indicative of mingled curiosity
and surprise.
"What you break off for like that, young man?" he demanded. "Have
you forgotten the words? You've won the quid all right, anyway."
"I've been robbed!" the singer called out. "Something has been
stolen from the pocket of this coat!"
"You locked it up yourself," I reminded him, with a sudden sinking of
the heart.
"I don't care!" was the wild reply. "It was there and it is gone!"
He flung the coat to the ground with a gesture of despair. The
advancing footsteps and voices were louder now. The man in the
plain clothes pushed his way through the wings, beckoned the police
to follow and pointed to the young man.
"The game's up, Mountjoy," he said curtly. "We don't want any
shooting here," he added, as he saw the flash of a revolver in the
other's hand. "I've half a dozen men outside besides these two."
The trapped man seemed in some measure to recover himself. He
half faced me, and the revolver in his hand was a wicked looking
instrument.
"Some one has been at my clothes," he muttered, his great black
eyes glaring at me. "If I thought that it was you——"
I was incapable of reply, but I imagine that my obviously dazed
condition satisfied him. He turned from me towards where Mr.
Richard Thomson was seated, watching the proceedings with
stupefied interest, breathing heavily with excitement, his mouth still
a little open.
"Or you," the young man added menacingly.
Thomson held out his hands in front of his face.
"You put that up, Mister," he enjoined earnestly. "If you're in a bit of
trouble with the cops, you go through with it. Don't you get
brandishing those things about. I've known 'em go off sometimes."
The singer's suspicions, if ever he had any, died away. He tossed the
revolver to the officer, who had halted a few yards away.
"Better take me out the back away," he advised. "There'll be trouble
if the crowd in front gets to know who I am."
The officer clinked a pair of handcuffs on his captive's wrists with a
sigh of satisfaction. They moved off down the passage. All the time
there had been a queer sort of rumble of voices in front, which
might well have been a presage of the gathering storm. I moved
back to the wings just in time to see the torch thrown. The girl who
had been seated with the young man, suddenly leaped upon a
bench. She snatched off her hat and veil as though afraid that they
might impede her voice. A coil of black hair hung down her back, her
face was as white as marble, but the strength of her voice was
wonderful. It rang through the hall so that there could not have
been a person there who did not hear it.
"You cowards!" she shouted. "You have let him be taken before your
eyes! That was Mountjoy who sang to you—our liberator! Rescue
him! Is there any one here from Donegal?"
Never in my life have I looked upon such a scene. The men came
streaming like animals across the benches and chairs, which they
dashed on one side and destroyed as though they had been paper. I
was just in time to seize Rose and draw her back to the farthest
corner when the sea of human forms broke across the stage.
Nobody took any notice of us. They went for the back way into the
street, shouting strange cries, brandishing sticks and clenched fists,
fighting even one another in their eagerness to be first. Until they
were gone, the tumult was too great for speech. Rose clung to my
arm.
"What does it mean, Maurice?" she asked breathlessly. "Who is he?"
"I have no idea," I answered, "but I can tell you one thing. To-night
has been our début."
"Talk plain English," Leonard begged. "Remember we had to be on
the stage all the time."
"It means," I explained, "that we've begun our little job as spokes in
the wheel which our friend Mr. Richard Thomson is turning. You
remember the other competitor, a man who never sang at all, who
looked like a Jew fishmonger in his best clothes?"
"What about him?" Rose demanded.
"He was Mr. Richard Thomson," I told her. "You and I, Leonard, are
simply mugs at making up. It was the most wonderful disguise I
ever saw in my life."
"That accounts for it," she declared, with a little shiver. "He has been
here before, watching. I told you that I felt him around, without ever
recognising him."
"Where is he now?" Leonard asked abruptly.
We searched the place. There was no sign of our patron. Just as
mysteriously as he had come, he had disappeared. The young lady
in blue satin came up and claimed her sovereign. We went down into
the auditorium and inspected the damage. Finally, as we were on
the point of leaving, a smartly dressed page came in through the
back door and handed me a note. It was dated from the Adelphi
Hotel and consisted only of a few lines:

Mr. Richard Thomson presents his compliments and will be glad

to see Miss Mindel, Mr. Lister and Mr. Cotton to supper to-night
at eleven-thirty.

History repeated itself. When we presented ourselves at the Adelphi

Hotel and enquired for Mr. Richard Thomson, doors seemed to fly
open before us, a reception clerk himself hurried out with smiles and
bows, and conducted us to the lift. We were ushered into a luxurious
sitting room on the first floor and welcomed by our host, whose
carefully donned dinner clothes and generally well-cared-for
appearance revealed gifts which filled me with amazement.
"This is a very pleasant meeting," Mr. Thomson declared, as he
placed us at the table and gave orders that the wine should be
opened. "We met last on the east coast, I remember. I trust that you
are finding business better?"
"Business is wonderfully good," I acknowledged.
"We turned away money last week," Leonard announced.
There was something a little unreal about the feast which was
presently served, excellent though it was, and I am quite sure that
we three guests breathed a sigh of relief when at last the table was
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