Forthwith, with his usual quickness, he formed one of those plans, which, directly it was formed, he put into execution almost mechanically. The situation of the house was uncommonly convenient for his purpose; and he was delighted to think that in a very short time he would know something which Josephine did not know and which would enable him to tease her. At the same time he made up his mind, as a loyal partner, to give her the benefit of his discoveries.
He strolled up and down with the air of a man who was waiting for someone. Of a sudden, taking advantage of the fact that the janitor of the flats was busy mopping the pavement in front of the house, he slipped behind her back into it, ran up the stairs to the top, forced the door of the empty flat, opened one of the windows which looked down on the roof of the house next door, made sure that no one could see him, and slipped out on to the roof.
It was only a few steps to a half-open dormer window. He climbed through it into a garret full of broken furniture, from which one descended to the floor below through a trap-door. He had some difficulty in raising it a little way noiselessly and looked down on to the second-floor landing. There was no ladder.
Below, on the first floor, two women were talking. Listening with all his ears he learned that Bridget Rousselin was lunching in her boudoir, and that her servant, apparently the only other person in the house, was dusting her bedroom and dressing room in the intervals of waiting on her.
Then Bridget Rousselin called out: “I’ve finished, Valentine. What a blessing it is that there’s no rehearsal today! I’m going back to bed till I have to start for the theater!”
This day at home rather upset Ralph’s plans, for he had been expecting to make a thorough search of the house at his ease during her absence at rehearsal. Nevertheless he did not lose patience; he just waited for the luck to turn.
Some minutes passed. Bridget was humming some of the music of the new revue. Then the front-door bell rang.
“That’s odd, Valentine,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone today. Go and see who it is.”
The maid went downstairs. There came the sound of the opening and shutting of the front door.
She came upstairs again and said: “It’s a gentleman from the theater—the manager’s secretary. He brought this letter.”
“Thanks. You showed him into the drawing room?”
“Yes.”
From the clearness with which he heard her voice Ralph gathered that Bridget had come out on to the first-floor landing. He heard her tear open the envelope.
Then she said: “That’s funny. The manager wants me to send him the bandeau I wear in the show, by his secretary. He wants to get it copied, and he’ll let me have it back at the theater tonight.”
Ralph swore under his breath: “Hang it!” he thought. “That bandeau is the chief object of my search. Is this manager also on the trail of it? And is Bridget Rousselin going to send it along to him?”
Her next words set his mind at rest.
“But I can’t do it,” she said. “I’ve already promised those stones.”
“That’s a pity,” said Valentine. “The manager will be annoyed.”
“I can’t help it. I’ve promised to sell them—and for a big price too,” said the actress.
“Then what am I to say?” asked Valentine.
“I must write to him,” said Bridget.
She went into her boudoir, wrote the note, and gave it to Valentine.
“By the way, do you know this secretary?” she said carelessly. “Have you seen him at the theater?”
“No, I haven’t. He must be a new one,” said Valentine.
“Tell him to tell the manager how sorry I am, and that I’ll tell him all about it at the theater tonight.”
Valentine went downstairs again; Bridget went to the piano and did two or three voice exercises. They must have drowned the noise of the shutting of the house door, for Ralph did not hear it. The minutes passed.
He felt somewhat uncomfortable. This business seemed to him rather queer—this secretary they did not know, this request for the jewels looked to him uncommonly like a trap of some sort.
Then he was reassured by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. They went to the door of the boudoir.
“Valentine,” he said to himself. “There was nothing in my fancies. The man has gone.”
But of a sudden the playing stopped short in the middle of a run. Evidently the actress jumped up so suddenly as to upset the piano stool, for it banged on the floor. She said in an uneasy voice:
“Who are you? … Oh, of course, you’re Monsieur Lenoir’s new secretary. … But what is it you want?”
A man’s voice answered: “Monsieur Lenoir gave me the strictest instructions to bring those jewels back with me; and I must insist on having them.”
“But I have written to him!” exclaimed Bridget in a yet more uneasy voice. … “My maid must have given you the letter. … Why hasn’t she come upstairs? Valentine!”
The door of the boudoir was banged violently. Ralph heard the noise of a struggle and cries of: “Help! Help!” Then silence.
The moment he had grasped the fact that Bridget Rousselin was in danger, he had tried to open wide the trap-door, noiselessly. But it stuck; and he lost precious time in forcing it up. Then he dropped onto the landing, ran down to the first floor and found three doors, all closed, to choose from.
As chance had it the one he opened was the door of the boudoir. It was
