Maggie held out her hand to Chalmers. The strain seemed to have
passed. Her lips were parted in a wonderful smile, her feet moved to the
music.
"Come and dance," she invited.
They moved a few steps away together, when Maggie came to an abrupt
standstill. The two stood for a moment as though transfixed, their eyes
upon the arched entrance which led from the restaurant into the lounge.
A man was standing there, looking around, a strange, menacing figure, a
man dressed in the garb of fashion but with the face of a savage, with
eyes which burned in his head like twin dots of fire, with drawn, hollow
cheeks and mouth a little open like a mad dog's. As his eyes fell upon
the group and he recognised them, a look of horrible satisfaction came
into his face. He began to approach quite deliberately. He seemed to
take in by slow degrees every one who stood there,--Maggie herself and
Chalmers, Naida, Nigel and Prince Shan. He moved forward. All the time
his right hand was behind him, concealed underneath the tails of his
dress coat.
"Be careful!" Maggie cried out. "It is Oscar Immelan! He is mad!"
Some of the party and many of the bystanders had shrunk away from the
menacing figure. Naida stepped out from among the little group of those
who were left.
"Oscar," she said firmly, "what is the matter with you? You are not well
enough to be here."
He came to a standstill. At close quarters his appearance was even more
terrible.
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