what he said to her. There was no change in his face as
he bent low over her fingers, no sign of anything which might have
passed between them, as a few minutes later he turned to one side with
Nigel. 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. Although by some means he had gotten into his evening clothes,
he was only partly shaven, and there were gashes in his face where the
hand which had held his razor had slipped. The pupils of his eyes were
distended, and the eyes themselves seemed to have shrunk back into their
sockets. His whole frame seemed to have suddenly lost vigour, even
substance. He had the air of a man in clothes too large for him. Even
his voice was shriller,--shriller and horrible with the slow and bestial
satisfaction of his words.

"So here you are, the whole nest of you together, eh?" he exclaimed.
"Good! Very good indeed! Prince Shan, the poisoner! Dorminster, enjoying
your brief triumph, eh? And you, Naida Karetsky, traitress to your
country--deceiver--"

"That will do, Immelan," Nigel interrupted sharply. "We are all