He darted across the room and opened the narrow door that led into the backstairs corridor. Helen stared stupidly after him until he disappeared and then turned toward the chest and went to work wrapping up the precious canvases like one in a trance. She had scarcely started when the folding doors opened noiselessly and Bateato stuck in his head.
Fearing that some harm had come to his master the little Jap had left the Ritz and sprinted all the way to the Gladwin mansion. He was breathless and wild-eyed, yet he had entered the house as silently as a breath of air.
Peeking into the room Bateato noted the ripped-down portières and devastated picture frames. His Oriental mind told him but one thing––robbery. Seized with a violent spasm of loyalty to his master he brushed into the room and exclaimed:
“Whatz thees? Oh, hell––damn!”
Helen was in too good training by this time to swoon, though she wanted to. She started back in alarm and exclaimed:
“Oh, how you startled me!”
Bateato circled round her like an enraged rat.
“You no fool me––I know you tief––you steal picture––I get pleece––much pleece––whole big lot pleece, quick.”
He headed for the door.