At eleven o’clock she kissed her father good-night and passed out to the hall, where the pianola was still going, and where the merriment was still in full swing.  For a quarter of an hour she was compelled to remain with the insipid young ass Bertie Girdlestone, a man who patronised musical comedy nightly, and afterwards supped regularly at the “Savoy”; then she escaped at last to her room.

Exchanging her pretty gown of turquoise chiffon for an easy wrap, she took up a novel, and, switching on her green-shaded reading-lamp, sat down to enjoy a quiet hour before retiring.  Quickly she became engrossed in the story, and though the stable-chimes sounded each half-hour she remained undisturbed by them.

It was half-past two before she had reached the happy denouement of the book, and, closing it, she rose to take off her trinkets.  Having divested herself of bracelets, rings, and necklet, she placed her hands to her ears.  There was only one ear-ring; the other was missing!  They were sapphires, a present from Walter on her last birthday.  He had sent them to her from Yokohama, and she greatly prized them.  Therefore, at risk of being seen in her dressing-gown by any of the male guests who might still be astir—­for she knew they always played billiards until very late—­she took off her little blue satin slippers and stole out along the corridor and down the broad staircase.

The place was in darkness; but she turned on the light, and again when she reached the hall.

She must have dropped her ear-ring in the library; of that she felt sure.  Servants were so careless that, if she left it, it might easily be swept up in the morning and lost for ever.  That thought had caused her to search for it at once.

As she approached the library door she thought she heard the sound as of some one within.  On her opening the door, however, all was in darkness.  She laughed at her apprehension.

In an instant she touched the switch, and the place became flooded by a soft, mellow light from lamps cunningly concealed behind the bookcases against the wall.  At the same moment, however, she detected a movement behind one of the bookcases against which she stood.  With sudden resolution and fearlessness, she stepped forward to ascertain its cause.  Her eyes at that instant fell upon a sight which caused her to start and stand dumb with amazement.  Straight before her the door of her father’s safe stood open.  Beside it, startled at the sudden interruption, stood a man in evening-dress, with a small electric lamp in his clenched hand.  A pair of dark, evil eyes met hers in defiance—­the eyes of James Flockart.

“You!” she gasped.

“Yes,” he laughed dryly.  “Don’t be afraid.  It’s only I. But, by Jove! how very charming you look in that gown!  I’d love to get a snapshot of you just as you stand now.”

“What are you doing there, examining my father’s papers?” she demanded quickly, her small hands clenched.