XVII
THE MYSTERY OF THE BOUDOIR
"It's Roger," Beverley thought. "He's ringing for Johnson—perhaps to ask more questions!"
"I must speak to my husband," she said to Miss Blackburne. "The pearls are in that case. There are two hundred and fifty. About thirty came unstrung. You'll see for yourself how they ought to be graduated. I'll be with you again in a few minutes."
She flew to the hall, hoping to intercept Johnson before he could reach Roger's room. But the man was not on his way there. It was the sound of the door-bell she had heard. Johnson was in the act of admitting a girl in a black chiffon cloak lined with blue. A large frilled hood pulled over the wearer's eyes hid the profile from Beverley. The girl turned; it was Clo.
"I'll go with you to your room," Beverley said, controlling her voice for the benefit of Johnson, and trying not to show how frantic was her haste. It was only when she had noiselessly closed the door of the big, bare room, that she dared let herself go.
"What's happened?" she implored. "Why are you dressed like this? Of course you haven't got the papers?"
"I dressed like this to make a get-away," said Clo. "I stole the cloak. I'll tell you everything by and by. But first, you must find out for yourself whether I've got the papers. I've got something—something in a thick envelope. That's all I know."
She threw off the cloak of the girl at the Dietz, and unpinned the pocket which held the precious package—the pocket which, thanks to the pin, had guarded its contents through the whole series of her adventures.