VI
ON the stroke of seven o'clock the next morning, Burton came downstairs with that exactness which even the most careless man can display in regard to his favorite sport. The rigors of the cub-hunting season being over, the meet did not take place until eight.
Cora was not yet ready for breakfast, and Crane went to fill his cigarette case before starting.
The drawing-room was still dark and in disorder. Crane lit a match to find his way to the table where the tobacco was kept. It was the same table on which had lain the miniature of the lady in the mauve ball dress; and as he held up his lighted match, his eyes sought once more that enchanting pearl circle. The flame died down and burned his fingers before his eyes had encountered what they were looking for. He lit a second match, and then a candle, before he could assure himself that the miniature was really gone.
He sprang into the hall and called: "Smithfield!" with a violence that had little respect for late sleepers.
Smithfield came hurrying out of the dining-room.
"Where's the miniature that used to be on this table?"
"The what is it, sir?"
"The miniature, a picture in a pearl frame."