It was the first night of Scheherezade, and the house was packed. Beautiful women gorgeously gowned, and men immaculately dressed crowded every box, and filled the stalls to overflowing. In every direction diamonds and other precious gems sparkled, and as the orchestra began the wonderful overture the audience, which had been talking volubly in anticipation of the silence which they knew must follow, became gradually hushed. The ballet ended, and the usual buzz of conversation followed. So worked up had the audience become by the terrible scenes of lust, followed by carnage, that several women in the stalls were laughing hysterically. An elderly man in the box adjoining Jessica’s, who obviously came from the provinces, and was witnessing Russian Ballet for the first time, could be heard expostulating in a north country accent against “such shows being permitted in a civilized land.” “And look at the clothes they wear--or rather don’t wear!” he went on, warming to his subject. “I maintain such shows should be put down by law. If I had known it would be like this I should not have brought you, my dear,” this to a faded woman, obviously his wife. “What has become of the censor that a ballet like this is allowed?” People in the theater exclaimed “Hush!” while in the boxes adjacent there was much tittering. In spite of his protests, however, he remained, and the next ballet apparently met with his approval. Somebody knocked at the door of the box occupied by Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson and her party, and La Planta got up to see who it was. After an exchange of whispers with the attendant, he went out and shut the door. When the second ballet ended, and he had not returned, Jessica showed signs of uneasiness. “What can have become of Archie?” she said to Stapleton, who sat beside her. “Do you know who wanted him?” “No. I am going out for a minute, so I will ask the attendant.” But when he succeeded in finding the attendant, she told him that the inquiry had been for Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson. The gentleman to whom she had given the message had said he would attend to it, and had gone into the foyer. “Did he take his hat?” Stapleton asked. “No, he came out just as he was.” “Then he cannot have left the theater. If you should see him will you tell him, please, that I have gone down to the foyer to find him?” But La Planta was not in the foyer. Nor, apparently, was he anywhere else in the theater. Asked if a gentleman without a hat had gone out of the theater within the last half hour, the commissionaire replied that he had been absent a little while, so would not like to say. La Planta had not returned to the box when Stapleton got back there, nor did he return at all. Jessica, told by Stapleton that the inquiry had been for her, looked at him oddly, but made no comment.