If Brand knew that his formal attainder was pending in the Commons, he did not know that the Chancellor had ordered his summary arrest.
The horse carried him to the Opera House, and from the portico he found his way up the main stairway into the foyer. There, at the ante-room of the royal box, an equerry was in attendance who conveyed his word to her Majesty.
"A Queen's messenger desires audience, and sends this white glove as a token."
Police officers had entered the box office below; Brand heard them on the stairs; and orders were shouted in the very foyer before the equerry returned.
"For the Queen's sake," he begged, "be quick!"
"Her Majesty will grant you audience."
Brand dashed past him into the ante-room. "Now," he said, "guard that door."
He found himself alone in a small, dark chamber, the very walls trembling with the crash of triumphal music, and loud voices from the corridor behind were already demanding admission. Then curtains were drawn asunder, and Margaret herself stood in the opening, against the glare of the auditorium, a glory of light shining as a halo about her, kindling the diamonds of her tiara. Her face was in shadow, her eyes big and dark as they searched the gloom of the place, until they fastened upon him.
"Mr. Brand? How dare you! You a Queen's messenger?"
With a gesture of rage, Brand flung the Russian papers upon the table between them.