Hilden, hovering near, felt his heart aching.
By eleven o'clock all the guests had arrived, and the grand staircase and reception saloon were alike deserted, while the ball-room was thronged with dancers and those who watched the dancing.
Lord Penshurst had long been famous as a host, and Lady Kathleen, in spite of her youth, was already numbered among the great hostesses of the country.
The scene, indeed, was full of splendour, and, as Melun's greedy mind had anticipated, the jewels of the women must have been worth upwards of half a million.
The slow, low music of a waltz was stealing down from the gallery, where the musicians were placed, when Lord Penshurst, who had just entered from the grand staircase, was conscious of some disturbance in the hall. For a moment he did not inquire what the cause of the upset might be; and it was, perhaps, just as well for him that he did not.
Up the drive had swept three great motor-cars, which had drawn up in a curious formation before the great entrance. Their concentrated head and side lights faced the door, so that the servants who stood about the hall were almost blinded by the glare.
From the cars descended a score of men in evening dress. But as they came into the more subdued light of the hall the keen eyes of the servants stationed there were quick to see that, in spite of their shirt-fronts and their opera-hats, these men were not gentlemen.
The arrival of so many men at once took the groom of the chambers aback, but he hurried forward to meet the guests, thinking that possibly this might be some surprise party.
His hospitable intention, however, met with a rude check, for he had scarcely taken half a dozen steps forward when he found himself looking down the barrel of a revolver.
A pleasant, easy voice called on him to stop, and the man stood stockstill, staring stupidly straight in front of him, half-fearfully and half-fascinated by the glint of the six-shooter.