“Geoffrey,” she whispered, coolly now, though with an intensity of repressed fear, “don’t look yet. In that box opposite, next the stage, a man is watching us. Be careful.”
So the fear had returned. Herriard leaned back in his chair with an affected yawn and looked at the box Alexia had indicated. It was the only one on that side of the house which seemed untenanted.
“I can see no one in it,” he said in a low tone. “The box seems empty.”
“I am certain,” she whispered back behind her fan, “that there was a man in it just now. I saw a pair of hateful eyes watching us out of the darkness. They have disappeared now; but I am sure of it.”
“Gastineau?” Herriard dreaded to ask the question, yet knew there was no safety in ignoring the worst, if such it were.
“I cannot be certain,” Alexia answered, and the tremor of her tone seemed to belie the doubt she expressed. “Is there another man on earth with eyes like his?”
Herriard tried to laugh reassuringly. “Surely that is not inconceivable,” he returned, “especially in this cosmopolitan city. You say the man was watching us?”
“Yes.”
Herriard strained his look to detect a sign of movement in the obscurity of the apparently empty box. But nothing broke the dead blackness of the recess. “I will go and make certain,” he said, rising.
“No, no, Geoffrey,” she objected apprehensively, “stay here; you must not go. There may be danger.” And as she looked up at him, he could see, even through the darkness, the fear in her eyes.