He soon found the attendant of the box occupied by Jessica and her party, and, having slipped some money into the man’s hand he asked him if he would tell Mr. Levi Schomberg that he was wanted.
“And who shall I say, sir?” the attendant inquired, looking into the eyes which fixed him through the mask.
“Say a ‘gentleman,’ and that it is important.”
In a minute the attendant returned, accompanied by the little Jew who, dressed as a troubadour, presented a far more grotesque figure than he supposed.
“Yes?” he said as he came up. “You wish to speak to me? Who are you?”
He had not removed his mask, and the little black eyes seemed to burn with curiosity behind it.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” Hopford said, “but The Evening Herald wants to know if it would be possible to obtain a flashlight photograph of Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson in the striking gown she is wearing to-night.”
Schomberg snorted.
“I am certain,” he answered, “that Mrs. Robertson would not consent to be photographed by the Evening Herald or any other paper, so it would be useless for me to ask her.”
He was about to turn away, when he checked himself.