His hand sought his jacket pocket, and when he withdrew it he had in his grasp a serviceable-looking revolver. He inhaled a long deep breath, for he was desperate.

At last he summoned courage, and again drew back the curtain very slowly. All was darkness within until he switched on his pocket-lamp and slowly examined the place.

The light fell upon the table whereon stood the jewel-case, and he walked straight to it and opened it.

The moment his eyes fell upon the magnificent string of pearls he stood for a second as though in hesitation.

Then swiftly he took them up, and with a glance at them thrust his prize into his jacket pocket.

It was the work of an instant.

He reclosed the lid. It snapped and startled him.

Next moment his light was switched off and he disappeared.

A second later, however, Jean turned the handle of the door, entered the room, and again switched on the light.

The place became flooded with electricity, and she stood a pale, erect figure, staring at the clock, which was just chiming the hour of midnight.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE CLOSED BOX.

Hardly had the sound of the silvery bells died away when a second figure scaled the balcony, and, seeing the light over the top of the curtain, as arranged, he placed his hand upon the long gla.s.s door and slowly opened it.

He drew aside the curtain slightly to ascertain if Jean were there awaiting him, and, seeing her, he entered boldly.

Ralph was dressed just as he had been in the morning, only he wore yellow lisle-thread gloves, so as to conceal his finger-prints, which, alas! were too well known to the police.

Husband and wife faced each other, in ignorance that an intruder stood concealed behind that curtain within two or three feet of them.

The intruder had fixed his eyes upon Jean, and stood staring at her as though fascinated by her amazing beauty.

"At last, Ralph!" she gasped. "I--I thought perhaps you would not come--that you would think the risk too great."

"Bah! What risk?" he asked. "Even if I were discovered, Bracondale could easily be satisfied that we are husband and wife."

She shrank back at those words.

"The child saw you with me this morning and told her father."

"Awkward. What did you say?"

"I made an excuse. One which, I hope, satisfied him."

"Trust you, Jean, for a good excuse," he laughed brutally.

Then, with a glance at the jewel-case on the table, he added: "But if I were you I'd be very wary. I suppose I did wrong in meeting you openly as I did. I ought to have been more circ.u.mspect. But, my girl, we need not have necessity to meet again, need we?"

"I hope not--for my sake," was her reply, as she turned her pale face to his.

"If you play the game, I shall also do the same. So you needn't fear.

Only I must have an address where to write to you."

"No," she protested. "You must not write. It will be far too dangerous.

And, besides, you made me a promise that if I gave you those," and she glanced at the table, "you would give me back my letter, and go away, never to see me again."

He regarded her in silence for a few moments, a sinister smile playing about his mobile lips. But he made no reply.

"Ah, Ralph," she went on, "I--I can't somehow trust you. When you have spent this money you will come back again. I know you will. Ah! you do not know all that this means to me."

"Well, doesn't it mean a lot to me--eh?"

"But I am a woman."

"You have money, while I'm without a sou. You surely can't blame me for getting a bit to go on with!" he exclaimed. "Is anybody about?"

"No. Bracondale has not yet returned, and all the servants are in bed."

"By Jove! This is a pretty house of yours, Jean!" he remarked, gazing around. He had not removed his hat. "You ought to consider yourself deuced lucky. While I've been having all my ups and downs, you've been living the life of a lady. When I saw you in your car at Havre I couldn't believe it. But to see you again really did my eyesight good."

"And benefited your pocket," she added bitterly.

He grinned. His nonchalant air irritated her. He was just the same as he had been in those days of their poverty, even though he now wore the clothes of a gentleman.

"Well," he said at last, "I've been thinking things over this evening.

You can't expect me, Jean, to accept a lump payment for my silence, can you? If you had a respectable sum which you could hand over so that my wants would, in future, be provided for, it would be different. I----"

"Your wants!" she interrupted in anger. "What are your wants?

Money--money--money always! Ah, Ralph! I know you. You brought me to ruin once, and you will do so again. I know it!"

"Not unless you are a fool!" he replied roughly. "You want your letter back--which is only natural. For it you give me your pearls. It is not a gift. I take them. I find the window unlatched, and come in and help myself. To-morrow you will raise a hue and cry--but not before noon, as I shall then be nearing old Uncle Karl, in Amsterdam. Bracondale will be furious, the _Surete_ will fuss and be busy, and you will be in picturesque tears over your loss. Bracondale will tell you not to worry, and promptly make you another present--perhaps a better one--and then all will be well."

"But you said you would leave Europe," she replied anxiously.

"So I shall."

"But----" and she hesitated.

"Ah! I see you don't trust me."

"I trusted you--once--Ralph. Do you recollect how brutally you treated me--eh?" she asked, in deep reproach.

"I recollect that, because of you, I quarrelled with Adolphe. He loved you, and now he's in prison, and serve him right, the idiot!"