Those masks had to be tied firmly and well, for some jester might try
to pull away that of Pierre, and if his face were seen, it would be
death--a slaughter without defense, for he had not been able to
conceal his big Colt in these tight-fitting clothes. Even as it was,
there was peril from the moment that the lights within should shine on
that head of dark-red hair.
As for Jack, there was little fear that she would be recognized. She
was strange even to Pierre every time he looked down at her, for she
had ceased to be Jack and had become very definitely "Jacqueline." But
the masks were on; the scarf adjusted about the throat and bare,
shivering shoulders of Jack, and they stood arm in arm before the door
out of which streamed the voices and the music.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
But she was trembling so, either from fear, or excitement, or both,
that he had to take a firm hold on her arm and almost carry her up the
steps, shove the door open, and force her in. A hundred eyes were
instantly upon them, practiced, suspicious eyes, accustomed to search
into all things and take nothing for granted; eyes of men who, when a
rap came at the door, looked to see whether or not the shadow of the
stranger fell full in the center of the crack beneath the door.
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