Having seen what she wanted to see, Josephine left her post and returned to her confederates. She had already given her instructions, but she took the precaution of repeating them.
“Above all, no unnecessary roughness,” she insisted. “You understand, Leonard? Since he has no weapon within reach with which to defend himself, there will be no need for you to use your weapons. There are five of you; and that’s enough.”
“But suppose he does resist?” said Leonard.
“It’s for you to act in such a manner that he can’t resist,” she said coldly with a touch of menace in her tone.
She had learned her way about so thoroughly, from the maps with which Dominique had supplied her, that she led them without hesitating a moment to the principal entry into the park. They found the keys, of the park gate and the door of Ralph’s lodge, at the place agreed upon. They opened the park gate and took their way along the wall to the lodge.
The key turned in the well-oiled lock of its door without a sound; noiselessly the door opened on well-oiled hinges. Followed by her confederates, she entered. On the other side of the tiled hall was the door of the bedroom. She pushed it open with infinite slowness.
It was the decisive moment. If Ralph had not been awakened but was sleeping still, Josephine’s plot would be successful. She listened. Nothing stirred. Then she stepped aside to make way for the five men and by letting the ray from the bull’s-eye fall on the bed, gave the signal to her pack.
The assault was so swift that the sleeper could not have awakened before all resistance was useless. The gang had rolled him up in his blankets and pulled the mattress round him, and wound a rope round it in less than ten seconds. In less than twenty seconds the rope was securely tied. There had not been a cry; not a piece of furniture had been knocked out of its place.
Once more Josephine was victorious.
“Splendid!” she said in a tone of excitement which revealed the importance she attached to this victory. “Splendid! We’ve got him. And this time every precaution shall be taken to prevent him from getting away.”
“What are we to do now?” Leonard asked.
“Carry him to the boat.”
“Suppose he shouts for help?”
“Gag him. But he can’t shout. Off you go!”
The four men stood up, bearing on their shoulders a burden which looked like a great bundle of linen. Leonard came to Josephine.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I told you: I’m waiting for Dominique.”
She lit the lamp and raised the shade of it.
“How pale you’re looking,” he said in a low voice.
“Perhaps I am,” she said defiantly.
“I suppose it’s about that girl.”
“Yes.”
“Dominique’s at work, is he?”
She nodded.
“Who knows? There may still be time to stop him!”
“Even if there were, I should not change my mind. It’s made up. What will be, will be. Besides, the thing is done. Off you go!”
“But why shouldn’t we wait for you?”
“The only danger comes from Ralph. Once he’s safe on the boat, we’ve nothing more to fear. Be off and leave me.”
She opened the window. They passed through it with their burden and disappeared in the darkness.
She closed the shutters and shut the window.
A few minutes passed and the church clock struck. She counted the strokes—eleven. At the eleventh stroke she went to the door of the lodge, opened it, and listened. There came a low whistle. She answered it by stamping on the tiles of the hall.
Dominique came hurrying to her. They went into the bedroom.
On the instant, without waiting for her to ask the question, he said: “I’ve done it.”
“Oh,” she said in a shaky voice; and she was so upset that she tottered and sank into a chair.
They stared at one another in silence.
Then Dominique uttered: “She felt nothing.”
“She felt nothing?” she repeated.
“No. She was asleep.”
“Are you quite sure that—that—”
“That she’s dead? You may take your oath to it I am! I drove the knife into her heart—three times. Besides I had the nerve to wait to make sure. There was no need. She had stopped breathing and her hands were cold.”
“Suppose they were to discover it?”
“It’s impossible. No one goes into her bedroom except in the morning. Till then—they won’t see.”
They did not dare to look one another in the face. Dominique held out his hand. She drew from her bosom ten thousand-franc notes and held them out to him.
He almost snatched them from her and said: “Thanks. If it were to be done again, I should refuse. What am I to do now?”
“Get away. If you run, you’ll catch the others up before they get back to the boat.”
“They’ve got Ralph d’Andresy?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a good thing. He’s been giving me a lot of trouble during the last fortnight. He was very suspicious. By the way—those jewels of the monks.”
“We have them,” said Josephine.
“Are they safe?”
“In the strongroom of a bank in London.”
“Are there many of them?” he said greedily.
“A trunk full.”
“Good! More than a hundred thousand francs for me, what?”
“Much more. But hurry up—unless you prefer to wait for me,” she said.
“No, no. I want to get away from here as soon as possible and as far as possible. But what about you?”
“I’m just going to make sure that there are no papers here which would be dangerous for us, and I’ll catch up with you.”
Dominique followed the others out through the window. At once Josephine ransacked all the drawers in the room, and finding nothing, hunted through the pockets of Ralph’s clothes.
She emptied his pocketbook out on to the table. It contained bank notes, visiting cards and a photograph—the photograph of Clarice d’Etigues.
Josephine looked at it earnestly with an expression no longer of hate, but cold and unforgiving. Then she stood still wearing the air of one who gazed upon some painful spectacle, while her lips retained their sweet smile.
The mirror on the toilet table was in front of
