She led him down some steps on to the smooth lawns which encircled the house. They passed in and out of some gigantic shrubs until at last they came to a paling. She felt along it for a few yards.
"There is a gate there," she told him. "Can you do anything with it?"
It was fastened by an old lock. He lifted it off its hinges, and they both passed through.
"Keep behind the shrubs as much as you can," she whispered. "There is a way into the house from the verandah here."
They reached at last the shadow of the building. She paused.
"Wait here for me," she continued. "I would rather enter the house without being seen, if I can, but it doesn't really matter. I can make some excuse for coming back. Don't move from where you are."
She glided away from him and disappeared. Lutchester waited, standing well back in the shadow of the shrubs. From the Embassy came all the time the sound of music, occasionally even the murmur of voices; from the dark house in front of him, nothing. Suddenly he heard what seemed to be the opening of a window, and then soft footsteps. Pamela appeared round the corner of the building, a white, spectral figure against that background of deep blue darkness. She came on tiptoe, running down the steps and holding her skirts with both hands.
"Not a soul has seen me," she whispered. "Take this quickly."
She thrust an envelope into his hands, and something hard with it.
"That's Uncle Theodore's seal," she explained. "He sealed up the envelope when he put it in there. Now come back quickly to the Embassy. You must please hurry with what you want to do. If I have left when you return, you must come back to exactly this place. That window"—she pointed upwards—"will be wide open. You must throw a pine cone or a pebble through it. I shall be waiting."