LITMIR.BIZ

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knitted thoughtful brows: "I don't understand."

      "All I need — except this."

      Crossing to the desk, he found a sheet of note-paper and, folding it, returned.

      "Now," he said, "give me five minutes…."

      Kneeling, he gave the combination-knob a smart preliminary twirl, then rested a shoulder against the sheet of painted iron, his cheek to its smooth, cold cheek, his ear close beside the dial; and with the practised fingers of a master locksmith began to manipulate the knob.

      Gently, tirelessly, to and fro he twisted, turned, raced, and checked the combination, caressing it, humouring it, wheedling it, inexorably questioning it in the dumb language his fingers spoke so deftly. And in his ear the click and whir and thump of shifting wards and tumblers murmured articulate response in the terms of their cryptic code.

      Now and again, releasing the knob and sitting back on his heels, he would bend intent scrutiny to the dial; note the position of the combination, and with the pencil jot memoranda on the paper. This happened perhaps a dozen times, at intervals of irregular duration.

      He worked diligently, in a phase of concentration that apparently excluded from his consciousness the near proximity of the girl, who stood — or rather stooped, half-kneeling — less than a pace from his shoulder, watching the process with interest hardly less keen than his own.

      Yet when one faint, odd sound broke the slumberous silence of the salons, instantly he swung around and stood erect in a single movement, gaze to the curtains.

      But it had only been a premonitory rumble in the throat of a tall old clock about to strike in the room beyond. And as its sonorous chimes heralded two deep-toned strokes, Lanyard laughed quietly, intimately, to the girl's startled eyes, and sank back before the safe.

      And now his task was nearly finished. Within another minute he sat back with face aglow, uttered a hushed exclamation of satisfaction, studied his memoranda for a space, then swiftly and with assured movements threw the knob and dial into the several positions of the combination, grasped the lever-handle, turned it smartly, and swung the door wide open.

      "Simple, eh?" he chuckled, with a glance aside to the girl's eager face, bewitchingly flushed and shadowed by the lamp's up-thrown glow — "when one knows the trick, of course! And now … if one were not an honest man!"

      A wave of his hand indicated the pigeonholes with which the body of the safe was fitted: wide spaces and deep, stored tight with an extraordinary array of leather jewel-cases, packets of stout paper bound with tape and sealed, and boxes of wood and pasteboard of every shape and size.

      "They were only her finest pieces, her personal jewels, that Madame Omber took with her to England," he explained; "she's mad about them … never separated from them…. Perhaps the finest collection in the world, for size and purity of water…. She had the heart to leave these — all this!"

      Lifting a hand he chose at random, dislodged two leather cases, placed them on the floor, and with a blade of his pen-knife forced their fastenings.

      From the first the light smote radiance in blinding, coruscant welter.

      Here was nothing but diamond jewellery, mostly in antique settings.

      He took up a piece and offered it to the girl. She drew back her hand involuntarily.

      "No!" she protested in a whisper of fright.

      "But just look!" he urged. "There's no danger … and you'll never see the like of this again!"

      Stubbornly she withheld her hand. "No, no!" she pleaded. "I — I'd rather not touch it. Put it back. Let's hurry. I — I'm frightened."

      He shrugged and replaced the jewel; then yielded again to impulse of curiosity and lifted the lid of the second case.

      It contained nothing but pieces set with coloured stones of the first order — emeralds, amethysts, sapphires, rubies, topaz, garnets, lapis-lazuli, jacinthes, jades, fashioned by master-craftsmen into rings, bracelets, chains, brooches, lockets, necklaces, of exquisite design: the whole thrown heedlessly together, without order or care.

      For a moment the adventurer stared down soberly at this priceless hoard, his eyes narrowing, his breathing perceptibly quickened. Then with a slow gesture, he reclosed the case, took from his pocket that other which he had brought from London, opened it, and held it aside beneath the light, for the girl's inspection.

      He looked not once either at its contents or at her, fearing lest his countenance betray the truth, that he had not yet succeeded completely in exorcising that mutinous and rebellious spirit, the Lone Wolf, from the tenement over which it had so long held sway; and content with the sound of her quick, startled sigh of amaze that what she now beheld could so marvellously outshine what had been disclosed by the other boxes, he withdrew it, shut it, found it a place in the safe, and without pause closed the door, shot the bolts, and twirled the dial until the tumblers fairly sang.

      One final twist of the lever-handle convincing him that the combination was effectively dislocated, he rose, picked up the lamp, replaced it on the desk with scrupulous care to leave no sign that it had been moved, and looked round to the girl.

      She was where he had left her, a small, tense, vibrant figure among the shadows, her eyes dark pools of wonder in a face of blazing pallor.

      With a high head and his shoulders well back he made a gesture signifying more eloquently than any words: "All that is ended!"

      "And now…?" she asked breathlessly.

      "Now for our get-away," he replied with assumed lightness. "Before dawn we must be out of Paris…. Two minutes, while I straighten this place up and leave it as I found it."

      He moved back to the safe, restored the wing of the screen to the spot from which he had moved it, and after an instant's close examination of the rug, began to explore his pockets.

      "What are you looking for?" the girl enquired.

      "My memoranda of the combination — "

      "I have it." She indicated its place in a pocket of her coat. "You left it on the floor, and I was afraid you might forget — "

      "No fear!" he laughed. "No" — as she offered him the folded paper — "keep it and destroy it, once we're out of this. Now those portières…"

      Extinguishing the desk-light, he turned attention to the draperies at doors and windows….

      Within five minutes, they were once more in the silent streets of Passy.

      They had to walk as far as the Trocadéro before Lanyard found a fiacre, which he later dismissed at the corner in the Faubourg St. Germain.

      Another brief walk brought them to a gate in the garden wall of a residence at the junction of two quiet streets.

      "This, I think, ends our Parisian wanderings," Lanyard announced. "If you'll be good enough to keep an eye out for busybodies — and yourself as inconspicuous as possible in this doorway…"

      And he walked back to the curb, measuring the wall with his eye.

      "What are you going to do?"

      He responded by doing it so swiftly that she gasped with surprise: pausing momentarily within a yard of the wall, he gathered himself together, shot lithely into the air, caught the top curbing with both hands, and…

      She heard the soft thud of his feet on the earth of the enclosure; the latch grated behind her; the door opened.

      "For the last time," Lanyard laughed quietly, "permit me to invite you to break the law by committing an act of trespass!"

      Securing the door, he led her to a garden bench secluded amid conventional shrubbery.

      "If you'll wait here," he suggested — "well, it will be best. I'll be back as soon as possible, though I may be detained some time. Still, inasmuch as I'm about to break into this hôtel, my motives, which are most commendable, may be misinterpreted, and I'd rather you'd stop

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