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Updated: June 24, 2025
She saw that she was surrounded by half a dozen dominoed masks. "Bring in the prisoner," grated a harsh voice from within the room. Despite Marjorie's command of hands off, she was given a sudden shove forward which sent her roughly through the doorway and into the larger apartment. Sureness of foot saved her from stumbling.
She determined to assume contemptuous indifference, for the time being, preferring to allow her captors to play their hand first. "Prisoner, you are now before the stern tribunal of the Scarlet Mask," announced the red dominoed figure in the same harsh guttural tones. "You have been guilty of many crimes and are to be punished for these tonight.
Notwithstanding the coolness of the night, a full moon drew the guests to the veranda, where coffee was served, and where, mysteriously muffled in cloaks and shawls, the party took upon itself the appearance of groups of dominoed masqueraders, scattered along the veranda and on the broad steps of the porch in gypsy-like encampments, from whose cloaked shadow the moonlight occasionally glittered upon a varnished boot or peeping satin slipper.
The door opened at last, not a word had been spoken as the dominoed procession filed out into the starry night. Leslie had stepped out first. Stationing herself on the veranda, she had counted them as they passed, to be sure none were missing. "Save your talking until you get to the Hall," she had curtly commanded. "Down the street and hustle for the campus. Keep together."
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