“By and by she went out of the room altogether.  I was suspicious still, and lay quite quiet for some time.  In the end, however, I got up and walked round the room, examining it.  I thought that even if anyone was watching me from somewhere, it would seem natural enough under the circumstances.  It was a squalid, dirty place.  There were no windows, which seemed queer.  I guessed the door would be locked, but I didn’t try it.  There were some battered old pictures on the walls, representing scenes from Faust.”

Jane’s two listeners gave a simultaneous “Ah!” The girl nodded.

“Yes—­it was the place in Soho where Mr. Beresford was imprisoned.  Of course, at the time I didn’t even know if I was in London.  One thing was worrying me dreadfully, but my heart gave a great throb of relief when I saw my ulster lying carelessly over the back of a chair.  And the magazine was still rolled up in the pocket!

“If only I could be certain that I was not being overlooked!  I looked carefully round the walls.  There didn’t seem to be a peep-hole of any kind—­nevertheless I felt kind of sure there must be.  All of a sudden I sat down on the edge of the table, and put my face in my hands, sobbing out a ‘Mon Dieu!  Mon Dieu!’ I’ve got very sharp ears.  I distinctly heard the rustle of a dress, and slight creak.  That was enough for me.  I was being watched!

“I lay down on the bed again, and by and by Mrs. Vandemeyer brought me some supper.  She was still sweet as they make them.  I guess she’d been told to win my confidence.  Presently she produced the oilskin packet, and asked me if I recognized it, watching me like a lynx all the time.

“I took it and turned it over in a puzzled sort of way.  Then I shook my head.  I said that I felt I ought to remember something about it, that it was just as though it was all coming back, and then, before I could get hold of it, it went again.  Then she told me that I was her niece, and that I was to call her ‘Aunt Rita.’  I did obediently, and she told me not to worry—­my memory would soon come back.

“That was an awful night.  I’d made my plan whilst I was waiting for her.  The papers were safe so far, but I couldn’t take the risk of leaving them there any longer.  They might throw that magazine away any minute.  I lay awake waiting until I judged it must be about two o’clock in the morning.  Then I got up as softly as I could, and felt in the dark along the left-hand wall.  Very gently, I unhooked one of the pictures from its nail—­Marguerite with her casket of jewels.  I crept over to my coat and took out the magazine, and an odd envelope or two that I had shoved in.  Then I went to the washstand, and damped the brown paper at the back of the picture all round.  Presently I was able to pull it away.  I had already torn out the two stuck-together pages from the magazine, and now I slipped them with their