"Twelve o'clock," Balmayne whispered; "not a minute later. On this occasion the longest way round will be the shortest way home."
The applause was gradually dying down. Hetty, conscious of a figure behind her, moved back. The box door shut and the air grew oppressive. Leona Lalage, still talking earnestly to her companion, motioned Hetty to open it.
She did so just as a telegraph boy came along with one of the orange-coloured envelopes in his hand. He looked at the address and at the number of the box.
"Box 11a, grand tier?" he suggested. "Miss Lawrence?"
"For me," Hetty replied. "What a strange thing!"
The boy passed on whistling under his breath. Outside Hetty opened her message. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"On no account let Countess leave house before midnight," it ran. "When she gets home keep her there till after twelve, at all costs."