Nick had drawn his friend to the rear of the box while they were whispering together, and they were standing so he could not see into the box adjoining; and so he was not aware of the fact that Mrs. Hurd-Babbington had stepped quietly out of it, and was, even at that instant, in the corridor at the rear of the tier.
With a nod and a smile at Stanton, the detective stepped quickly from the box, and—came face to face with the very woman whom he desired the least to see at that particular time and place.
She was standing there, too, precisely as if she were awaiting him; as if she had expected his coming, having known all the time that he was in the box next to her.
Well, the fat was in the fire, he argued to himself the instant he saw her, and so he governed his actions accordingly; that is, he merely inclined his head in token of recognition, and made as if to pass on without taking any further notice of her. In short, he acted precisely as he would have done had he not been watching her—had the encounter been purely an accidental one.
But Madge Babbington had no wish to permit him to pass in that manner, and whether she had been waiting for him or not could not be told from her manner. He knew that she was almost as perfect a master of her impulses and of the expression of her face as he was of his own.
She stepped directly in front of him, and so barred the way, and, with a flash of her strange eyes into his and a smile upon her lips that might have had its effect upon any man but Nick Carter, she said:
“We meet again, Mr. Carter. Quite by accident, I suppose?�
“Quite, madam.� And it was true so far as he was concerned, at least, in reference to the present encounter behind the tier of boxes.
“Are you sure that you are not here to watch me, Mr. Carter?� she asked, but without a suggestion of offense in her tone, even though she might have believed such to be the real condition.
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled back at her. He was on safe ground in what he was about to say.