"Good-night, Kate."
"Good-night, old chap."
Lionel extinguished the hall light and, with flaring candle-shadows dancing behind them, these two climbed the stairs. Then came the closing of distant bedroom doors and Ipping House, dark and silent, settled down to slumber, while the adventuress waited.
Eleven! Twelve! One o'clock! to the slow, soothing voice of the bells. Those who prowl by night under strange roofs must learn patience and, while these hours passed, Hester scarcely stirred, except from chair to bench, then back again from bench to chair, noiselessly, for she wore sneakers with rubber soles. She played odd little games with the moon-beams, making bets with herself as to how long, measured in heart beats, it would take a certain little flickering yellow fellow with a funny tail to creep from one crack to another. And she found that she could make her heart beat slower by taking long, deep breaths, which sometimes helped her to win.
At half-past one Hester turned the switch of a tiny electric lantern that hung from a cord around her neck. A beam of concentrated light flashed across the room and instantly vanished as the switch went back. The storage battery was working well. It was time to start.
Throwing her spot of light here and there, the girl made a round of the conservatory, scrutinizing every corner. The golf bag might be here, one never could be sure. Then, finding nothing, she passed into the library and repeated her search, then on into the great shadowy hall, all to no purpose. The golf bag was not there. This was only what Hester had expected. It was altogether likely that Mrs. Baxter had done one of two things with the bag: either she had returned it to Miss Thompson, in which case it was now in Betty's chamber, or, possibly, she had taken it to her own bedroom. And the conclusion was, if she was going on with her search, that the girl must now, in the dead of night, enter two rooms where defenseless women were sleeping. This was a serious matter; it meant years in prison if she were caught.
For several minutes Hester pondered this, while disconnected memories of her troubled life came and went through her mind, like pictures, memories of when she was little and of her sister Rosalie. It seemed as if now, in the darkness, she could see Rosalie's sad, tired face and loving eyes fixed on her. Well, she was doing this for Rosalie, she wanted the money for Rosalie and—she had gone pretty far already, why not go a little farther?
In this resolve the intruder moved back into the library and, without giving herself time for further hesitation, she cautiously ascended the winding stair that led to Betty Thompson's room. If the worst came, she did not believe this kind-eyed girl, her fellow country-woman, would betray her. Besides, why should there be any trouble? It was only a matter of silently turning the knob. The noiseless creeping light would do the rest. If she saw the golf bag, there by the dressing-table, she could get it without a sound. And, anyway, Betty must be in her deepest sleep. It would take more than the squeak of a board or the crack of a too tense knee-joint to rouse her. None of which reasoning availed, for now, when Hester turned the knob and pressed, she found an unyielding barrier against her; the door was locked.
So that was settled. If the golf bag was in Betty Thompson's chamber it must stay there. She would take no risks of picking a lock and—perhaps this wasn't her lucky night. Perhaps she had better fade away before anything went wrong.
Crouching on the lower step of the stair, Hester heard the chimes ring out the third quarter before two. Only fifteen minutes since she began her search! Should she make one more effort? Should she try Mrs. Baxter's room and, if nothing came of that, then stop for the night? It wasn't likely both women would lock their doors.