Spoiler : "...Whatever became of Rupert Orange? At every society party in London, in New York, anywhere, such a question was once asked frequently, now not so often. Soon it will never be asked again, because people forget people. Public figures fade into insignificance, great stars of the stage and screen are forgotten all to easily, and heroes we might owe our lives to could die in rags for all we care, within a few short years of their exploits. Rupert Orange. Rupert Orange was no hero, of course, he starred on no stage, although he was at one time a familiar figure at London first nights, and would never have dreamt of attending if a box had not been available. A box meant a beautiful woman, and whether the play was good or bad, the evening required food and wine at its end. Rupert Orange blazed like a comet for a few short, brilliant years, but when his name slipped from memory in the early 30s, there were precious few to mourn a man who had gone forever... Beyond Midnight."