In less than a minute he had let the
curtain fall again and unlocked the door. Almost immediately afterwards
there was a knock.
"Come in," he invited.
Katharine and her brother entered, the former in a gown of black net
designed by the greatest of French modistes, and Richard in active service
uniform.
"We are abominably early, of course," Katharine declared, as they shook
hands, "but I love to see the people arrive, and as it is Dick's last
evening he couldn't bear the thought of losing a minute of it."
Jocelyn Thew busied himself in establishing his guests comfortably. He
himself remained standing behind Katharine's chair, a little in the
background.
"We are going to have a great performance to-night," he observed. "Exactly
what time does your train go, Richard?"
"Ten o'clock from Charing Cross."
Jocelyn Thew thrust his hand into his pocket, and Richard, rising to his
feet, stepped back into the shadows of the box. Something passed between
them. Katharine turned her head and clutched nervously at the programme
which lay before her. She was looking towards them, and her face was as
pale as death. Her host stepped forward at once and smiled pleasantly down
at her.
"You will not forget," he whispered, "that we are likely be the centre of
observation to-night.
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