She sat there face to face with this new phase in her life. She was not
even conscious of the abrupt pause in the music, the agitated murmur of
voices, the sudden cessation of that rhythmical sweep of footsteps on
the floor below.
The door of the box was once more opened. Naida, attired as a lady of
the Russian Court, entered, followed by Nigel. Both were obviously
disturbed. Nigel, who was in ordinary evening dress, carrying his
discarded mask in his hand, was paler than usual and exceedingly grave.
Naida's dark eyes, too, seemed filled with a sense of awesome things.
Almost at the same moment, Maggie realised for the first time that the
music had ceased, that there was a hush outside, curiously perceptible,
almost audible.
"What has happened?" she asked breathlessly.
Nigel had poured out a glass of wine and was holding it to Naida's lips.
"Something very terrible," he said quietly. "Prince Shan was murdered in
his box there a few minutes ago."
Maggie half rose to her feet. The walls seemed spinning round. Then she
looked across the great empty space. The still figure in the apple-green
coat had disappeared.
"Prince Shan was murdered in that box," she repeated, "a few minutes
ago?"
"Yes!" Nigel assented gravely. "He seems to have feared something of the
sort, for he had two servants on guard outside and announced that he
was not receiving visitors to-night. No one knows any particulars, but a
number of people in the auditorium saw him fall sideways from his chair.
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