"I have messages every five minutes," he whispered in her ear, "and I am venturing upon a bold stroke. There is still something about the affair, though, which I cannot understand. You are absolutely sure that Guillot has not moved?"
Violet pointed with her programme across the house.
"There he sits," she remarked. "He left his chair as the curtain went down, but he could scarcely have gone out of the box, for he was back within ten seconds."
Peter looked steadily across at the opposite box. Guillot was sitting a little farther back now, as though he no longer courted observation. Something about his attitude puzzled the man who watched him. With a quick movement he caught up the glasses which stood by his wife's side. The curtain was going up for the second act, and Guillot had turned his head. Peter held the glasses only for a moment to his eyes, and then glanced down at the stage.
"My God!" he muttered. "The man's a genius! Violet, the small motor is coming for you."
He was out of the box in a single step. Violet looked after him, looked down upon the stage and across at Guillot's box. It was hard to understand.
The curtain had scarcely rung up upon the second act of the ballet when a young lady, who met from all the loungers, and even from the door-keeper himself, the most respectful attention, issued from the stage-door at the Empire and stepped into the large motor-car which was waiting, drawn up against the kerb. The door was opened from inside and closed at once. She held out her hands, as yet ungloved, to the man who sat back in the corner.
"At last!" she murmured. "And I thought that you had forsaken me. It seemed, indeed, dear one, that you had forsaken me."
He took her hands and held them tightly, but he answered only in a whisper. He wore a sombre black cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. A muffler concealed the lower part of his face. She put her finger upon the electric light, but he stopped her.
"I must not be recognised," he said thickly. "Forgive me, Louise, if I seem strange at first, but there is more in it than I can tell you. No one must know that I am in London to-night. When we reach this place to which you are taking me, and we are really alone, then we can talk. I have so much to say."