He lifted the lid to inspect its void interior. Glancing up above it, he motioned to Watkins and said:
“Here, help me get this out of the way.”
Watkins glided to one end of the chest and together they hauled it clear of the wall. This done, he addressed Watkins as if he were but a creature to command:
“I can manage alone in here, but I want to be ready to leave by the time Miss Burton arrives. You go outside and wait in the car––and keep a sharp lookout.”
Watkins bowed himself out with his stereotyped, “Yes, sir,” and the door clicked gently after him.
The now lone invader returned to his interested survey of the paintings that covered the walls, turning easily on his heel until his line of vision embraced “The Blue Boy.”
From his difficult peephole Travers Gladwin could see the sharp, stern features wrinkle with smiles before the intruder laughed lightly and breathed with seeming great enjoyment:
“Ha! The Blue Boy.”
The smile went out as swiftly as it had come and was replaced by an utterly different expression as he swung about and visualized the Rembrandt on the wall above where the great empty chest had stood.