“Why did you ask for me instead of for Mrs. Robertson?” he asked sharply.
Hopford laughed.
“I leave that conundrum to you to answer,” he said. “Good night, Mr. Schomberg,” and he went off elated at his success, while the Jew stood looking after him with a scowl which his mask concealed.
Hopford had suspected from the first the identity of the “snake woman,” as people now called her; the dress was being greatly talked about. Now he would be able to enlighten Yootha Hagerston; also in his paper next day he would, he told himself, boldly name the wearer of the very daring costume.
As the night wore on, the noise and merriment increased. Certainly no Albert Hall ball had ever been less decorous. The most modern and the most peculiar dances followed one another in quick succession. Yet though the floor looked packed it was not unduly crowded.
Blenkiron stood apart with his friend, Captain Preston, whose wounded leg precluded his dancing.
“I should like to possess a sum equivalent to a year’s interest on the value of all the diamonds and other jewelry here to-night,” he said lightly. “It would set some of us up for life!”
“And the war was supposed to have impoverished the nation!” Preston observed dryly. “This sort of show isn’t much in my line, George.”
“Or in mine. But Cora is enjoying it, and Yootha too. Smart of Hopford to have discovered the identity of the woman in the snake costume—eh? I bet she’ll be annoyed when she sees her name in his paper to-morrow.”
“You think so? Why?”