"We will have to go in a few minutes, won't we?" she asked uneasily.
"I suppose so," he replied.
"Certainly before unmasking-time," she said, "because—because I think there is someone here who knows, or suspects, that——"
"Suspects what?" demanded the Burglar.
"Sh-h-h-h!" warned the Girl, and she laid a finger on her lips. "Not so loud. Someone might hear. Here are some people coming now that I'm afraid of. They know me. Meet me in the conservatory in five minutes. I don't want them to see me talking to you."
She moved away quickly and the Burglar looked after her with admiration and some impalpable quality other than that in his eyes. He was turning away toward the conservatory when he ran into the arms of an oversized man lumpily clad in the dress of a courtier. The lumpy individual stood back and sized him up.
"Say, young fellow, that's a swell rig you got there," he remarked.
The Burglar glanced at him in polite astonishment—perhaps it was the tone of the remark.
"Glad you like it," he said coldly, and passed on.
As he waited in the conservatory the amusement died out of his eyes and his lips were drawn into a straight, sharp line. He had seen the lumpy individual speak to another man, indicating generally the direction of the conservatory as he did so. After a moment the Girl returned in deep agitation.