Alone in the box, Maggie was confronted once more with spectres.  She felt all the fear and the sweetness of this new awakening.  The old dangers and problems, the danger of life and death, the problem of her well-ordered days, fell away from her as trifles.  There was wilder music in the world than any to which she had yet listened,—­music which seemed to be awakening vibrant melodies in her terrified heart.  The curtain which hung about the forbidden world had been suddenly lifted.  Little shivers of fear convulsed her.  Her standards were confused, her whole sense of values disturbed.  Her primal virginity, left to itself because it had never needed a guard, had suddenly become a questioning thing.  She sat there face to face with this new phase in her life.  She was not even conscious of the abrupt pause in the music, the agitated murmur of voices, the sudden cessation of that rhythmical sweep of footsteps on the floor below.

The door of the box was once more opened.  Naida, attired as a lady of the Russian Court, entered, followed by Nigel.  Both were obviously disturbed.  Nigel, who was in ordinary evening dress, carrying his discarded mask in his hand, was paler than usual and exceedingly grave.  Naida’s dark eyes, too, seemed filled with a sense of awesome things.  Almost at the same moment, Maggie realised for the first time that the music had ceased, that there was a hush outside, curiously perceptible, almost audible.

“What has happened?” she asked breathlessly.

Nigel had poured out a glass of wine and was holding it to Naida’s lips.

“Something very terrible,” he said quietly.  “Prince Shan was murdered in his box there a few minutes ago.”

Maggie half rose to her feet.  The walls seemed spinning round.  Then she looked across the great empty space.  The still figure in the apple-green coat had disappeared.

“Prince Shan was murdered in that box,” she repeated, “a few minutes ago?”

“Yes!” Nigel assented gravely.  “He seems to have feared something of the sort, for he had two servants on guard outside and announced that he was not receiving visitors to-night.  No one knows any particulars, but a number of people in the auditorium saw him fall sideways from his chair.  When he was picked up, there was a small dagger through his heart.”

“Through Prince Shan’s heart?” Maggie persisted wildly.

“Yes!”

Suddenly she began to laugh.  It was a strange, hysterical ebullition of feeling, frankly horrifying.  Naida gazed at her with distended eyes.

“Prince Shan has never been here!” Maggie explained brokenly.  “He has never left his house in Curzon Street!  He is there now!”

Nigel shook his head.

“What is the matter with you, Maggie?” he demanded.  “Every one has seen Prince Shan here.  You spoke of him yourself.  He was in the box exactly opposite.”

She shook her head.

“That was one of his suite,” she cried.  “I know!  I tell you I know!” she went on, her voice rising a little.  “Prince Shan is safe in his house in Curzon Street.”