Then he took another yellow bag, more dirty and worn than the first. As he opened it, Mrs. Moulton could restrain herself no longer.
“The replica!” she cried. “The replica!”
Without a word, Craig handed the real necklace to her. Then he slipped the paste jewels into the newer of the bags and restored both it and the empty one to their places, banged shut the door of the safe, and replaced the wooden screen.
“Quick!” he said to her, “you have still a minute to get away. Hurry—anywhere—away—only away!”
The look of gratitude that came over her face, as she understood the full meaning of it was such as I had never seen before.
“Quick!” he repeated.
It was too late.
“For God’s sake, Kennedy,” shouted a voice at the street door, “what are you doing here?”
It was McLear himself. He had come with the Hale patrol, on his mettle now to take care of the epidemic of robberies.
Before Craig could reply a cab drew up with a rush at the curb and two men, half fighting, half cursing, catapulted themselves into the shop.