The Councillors of Falconhoe by Fred M. White

The performers on the stage were keyed up now, and the nervous tension carried over the footlights to the crowd gathered there as if they were all part of the orchestra playing on the same stringed instruments. The accord was a perfect one, as was always the case where the Imps were concerned, indeed it was this magnetism that had already made them famous. It was a sort of hypnotism, and this was precisely what Villars Croft had been playing for.

He could make out dimly those rows of men and women in shimmering silks, and the white expanse of shirt fronts which made a foil for the background of restless diamonds flashing on corsage, and in the hair of the women there as they swayed with laughter. He could discern Countisbury standing in the background, and more and more Mrs. Hommany and her daughter loomed up against the oak panelling of the old walls, until at length it seemed as it the whole of the concert room was made up of one vast pearl necklace. Then, a few moments later, when the scene was nearly at its climax, he became aware of the fact that a footman was threading his way through the audience until he came to the spot where Hommany's fair daughter was seated, and discreetly placed a note in her hand. It was so dexterously and skilfully done, that if he had not been actually expecting the very thing to happen, he would not have noticed it at all. Nor did the rest of the audience apparently, for the servant vanished as if he had been no more than the mere shadow of himself.