“Do not hesitate, or we may be observed,” he urged. “Take it quickly. Do not open it until you return to your hotel,” and he thrust it into my hand. “Remember what I have said,” he exclaimed, rising quickly. “I must be gone, for I see that suspicion is aroused in those who are watching. Act with prudence, and the disaster against which I have warned you will not occur. Above all, keep the appointment in London on the second of June.” “But why?” “Because for your own safety it is imperative,” he responded, and with a low bow he opened the door of the box, and the next instant I was alone with the little packet the stranger had given me resting in my hand. CHAPTER IX SHOWS THE BIRD’S TALONS For some little time after my mysterious companion had left I sat forward in the box, gazing down at the wild revelry below, and hoping that one or other of the party would recognize me. So great a crowd was there, and so many dresses exactly similar, that to distinguish Ulrica or Gerald, or, indeed, any of the others, proved absolutely impossible. They might of course be in one or other of the supper-rooms, and I saw from the first that there was but little chance of finding them. Leaning my elbows on the edge of the box, I gazed down upon the scene of reckless merriment, but my thoughts were full of the strange words uttered by the mysterious masker. The packet he had given me I had transferred to my pocket, and with pardonable curiosity I longed to open it and see what it contained. The warning he had given me was extremely disconcerting and worried me. No woman likes to think that she has unknown enemies ready to take her life. Yet that was apparently my position. That life could be taken swiftly and without detection I had plainly seen in the case of poor Reggie. When I recollected his terrible fate I shuddered. Yet this man had plainly given me to understand that the same fate awaited me if I did not adopt the line of conduct that he had laid down. Whoever he might be, he certainly was acquainted with all my movements and knew intimately my feelings. There was certainly no likelihood of my marriage with old Benjamin Keppel. I scouted the idea. Yet he knew quite well that the old millionaire had become attracted by me and reposed in me a confidence that he did not extend to others. The more I reflected, the more I became convinced that the stranger’s fear of being recognized arose from the fact that he himself was either the murderer or an accessory to the murder of poor Reggie. What did the demand that I should return to London denote? It could only mean one thing--namely, that my assistance was required. Whoever were my enemies, they were, I argued, enemies likewise of old Mr. Keppel. The present which the stranger had pressed upon me was nothing less than a bribe to secure either my silence or my services.