of all that was
alluring in her sex. Violet leaned forward to watch her movements as she
plunged into the first dance. Peter was occupied looking round the
house. Monsieur Guillot was there, sitting insolently forward in his
box, sleek and immaculate. He even waved his hand and bowed as he met
Peter's eye. Somehow or other, his confidence had its effect. Peter
began to feel vaguely troubled. After all, his plans were built upon a
surmise. It was so easy for him to be wrong. No man would show his hand
so openly who was not sure of the game. Then his face cleared a little.
In the adjoining box to Guillot's the figure of a solitary man was just
visible, a man who had leaned over to applaud Louise, but who was now
sitting back in the shadows. Peter recognised him at once,
notwithstanding the obscurity. This was so much to the good, at any
rate. He took up his hat.

"For a quarter of an hour you will excuse me, Violet," he said. "Watch
Guillot. If he leaves his place, knock at the door of your box, and one
of my men, who is outside, will come to you at once. He will know where
to find me."

Peter hurried away, pausing for a moment in the promenade to scribble a
line or two at the back of one of his own cards. Presently he knocked at
the door of the box adjoining Guillot's and was instantly admitted.
Violet continued her watch. She remained alone until the curtain fell
upon the first act of the ballet. A few minutes later Peter returned.
She knew at once that things were going well. He sank into a chair by
her side.

"I have messages every five minutes," he whispered in her ear, "and I am
venturing upon a bold stroke. There is still something about the affair,
though, which I cannot understand. You are absolutely sure that Guillot
has not moved?"

Violet pointed with her programme across the house.

"There he sits," she remarked. "He left his chair as the curtain went
down, but he could scarcely have gone out of the box, for he was back
within ten seconds."

Peter looked steadily across at the opposite box. Guillot was sitting a
little farther back now, as though he no longer courted observation.
Something about his attitude puzzled the man who watched him. With a
quick movement he caught up the glasses which stood by his wife's side.
The curtain was going up for the second act, and Guillot had turned his
head. Peter held the glasses only for a moment to his eyes, and then
glanced down at the stage.

"My God!" he mu