The motor passed along swiftly in the darkness. Inside the opera house many people noticed that Countess Lalage's box was only tenanted through the second act of the new opera by a very pretty girl in white, with no ornaments in her hair. Hetty, on the other hand noticed nothing at all but the stage; she had actually forgotten that her employer was not there. The opera was a rare treat to her, and she revelled in music.
There was a veritable scene of triumph at the end of the third act, and whilst the curtain was raised for the second time Countess Lalage and her companion returned. They strolled into the box with the calm air of people quite accustomed to this sort of thing; they might have been merely flirting outside.
"Twelve o'clock," Balmayne whispered; "not a minute later. On this occasion the longest way round will be the shortest way home."
The applause was gradually dying down. Hetty, conscious of a figure behind her, moved back. The box door shut and the air grew oppressive. Leona Lalage, still talking earnestly to her companion, motioned Hetty to open it.
She did so just as a telegraph boy came along with one of the orange-coloured envelopes in his hand. He looked at the address and at the number of the box.
"Box 11a, grand tier?" he suggested. "Miss Lawrence?"
"For me," Hetty replied. "What a strange thing!"
The boy passed on whistling under his breath. Outside Hetty opened her message. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"On no account let Countess leave house before midnight," it ran. "When she gets home keep her there till after twelve, at all costs."
Hetty gazed at the strange unsigned message with the feeling that she was being made the victim of some foolish joke. But who would play her a silly prank like that? Perhaps Gordon had had something to do with it.
At any rate, she must act. If it turned out to be a hoax she could apologise afterwards. But, on the other hand, it might be a matter of life and death; it might affect her lover's honour. It was a good thing that Hetty had been fortunate to handle the telegram where she could be secluded from the sharp eyes of her employer. Otherwise she would assuredly have betrayed herself. She tore the telegram into tiny fragments and pushed them under the edge of one of the mats. It was far better to be cautious.