When he was picked up, there was a small dagger through his heart."
"Through Prince Shan's heart?" Maggie persisted wildly.
"Yes!"
Suddenly she began to laugh. It was a strange, hysterical ebullition of
feeling, frankly horrifying. Naida gazed at her with distended eyes.
"Prince Shan has never been here!" Maggie explained brokenly. "He has
never left his house in Curzon Street! He is there now!"
Nigel shook his head.
"What is the matter with you, Maggie?" he demanded. "Every one has seen
Prince Shan here. You spoke of him yourself. He was in the box exactly
opposite."
She shook her head.
"That was one of his suite," she cried. "I know! I tell you I know!" she
went on, her voice rising a little. "Prince Shan is safe in his house in
Curzon Street."
"How can you possibly know this, Maggie?" Naida intervened eagerly.
"Because I left him there half an hour ago," was the tremulous reply.
CHAPTER XXII
There is in the Anglo-Saxon temperament an almost feverish desire to
break away from any condition of strain, a sort of shamefaced impulse to
discard emotionalism. The strange hush which had lent a queer sensation
of unreality to all that was passing in the great building was without
any warning brought to an end. Whispers swelled into speech, and speech
into almost a roar of voices. Then the music struck up, although at
first there were few who cared to dance. There were many who, like
Maggie and her companions, silently left their places and hurried
homewards.
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