From the moment when the taxicab drove away and left her in the deserted street, Maggie was conscious of a strange sense of suppressed excitement, something more poignant and mysterious, even, than the circumstances of her adventure might account for.  It was exciting enough, in its way, to play the part of a marauding thief, to find herself unexpectedly face to face with a possible solution of the great problem of Prince Shan’s intentions.  But beneath all this there was another feeling, more entirely metaphysical, which in a sense steadied her nerves because it filled her with a strange impression that she had lost her own identity, that she was playing somebody else’s part in a novel and thrilling drama.

The street was empty when she inserted the little key in the front door.  There was not a soul there to see her step in as it swung open and then softly, noiselessly, but without any conscious effort of hers, closed again behind her.  She held her breath and looked around.

The hall was round, painted white and dimly lit by an overhead electric globe.  In the centre was a huge green vase filled with great branches of some sort of blossoms.  Not a picture hung upon the walls, nor was there any hall stand, chest, closet for coats or hats, or any of the usual furbishings of such a place.  There were three rugs upon the polished floor and nothing else except a yawning stairway and closed doors.  Whatever servants might be in attendance were evidently in a distant part of the building.  Not a sound was to be heard.  Still without any lack of courage, but oppressed with that curious sense of unreality, she turned almost automatically towards the door on the left and opened it.  Again it closed behind her noiselessly.  She realised that she was in one of the principal reception rooms of the house, dimly lit as the hall from a dome-shaped globe set into the ceiling.  She moved a yard or two across the threshold and stood looking about her.  Here again there was an almost singular absence of furniture.  The walls were hung with apple-green silk, richly embroidered.  There were some rugs upon the polished floor, a few quaintly carved chairs set with their backs against the wall, and opposite to her the ebony cabinet of which La Belle Nita had spoken.  She moved towards it.  Somehow or other, she found herself with the other key in her hand, stooping down.  She counted the drawers—­one, two three—­fitted in the key, turned it, and realised with a little start the presence in the drawer of a roll of parchment, tied around with tape and sealed with a black seal.  She laid her hand upon it, but even at that moment she felt a shiver pass through her body.  There had been no sound in the room, which she could have sworn had been empty when she entered it, yet she had now a conviction that she was not alone.  She turned slowly around, her lips parted, breathing quickly.  Standing in the middle of the room, a grim, commanding figure in his flowing green robes, the dim light flashing upon the great diamonds in his belt, stood Prince Shan.