The young people went off together and in the excitement of the game other things were forgotten. Vera played well and Geoffrey had all his work cut out to beat her. Finally Vera ran out with a succession of brilliant flukes.
"Well, of all the luck!" Geoffrey cried. "Let's play another game, but after that exhibition of yours I must have a cigarette. Wait a moment."
The cigarettes were not in their accustomed place. Geoffrey ran up the stairs to his bedroom. He passed along the dusky corridor on his return. In the gallery all was dark and still, save for something that sounded like two figures in muffling velvet robes dancing together. It seemed to Geoffrey that he could actually hear them breathing after their exertions.
With a quickening of his heart he stopped to listen. Surely somebody buried under many thick folds of cloth was calling for assistance.
"Who is there?" Geoffrey called. "Where are you?"
"Just under the Lely portrait," came a stifled response. "If you don't——"
The voice ceased. In that instant Geoffrey had recognized it as Aunt Gordon's voice.
Heedless of danger to himself he raced down the corridor, his thin evening pumps making little or no noise on the polished floor. Nor had Geoffrey lived here all these years for nothing. He could have found the spot indicated blindfolded.
He could see nothing, but he could hear the struggle going on; then he caught the flash of something that looked like a blue diamond. It must have been attached to a hand, but no hand was to be seen. Geoffrey caught at nothingness and grasped something warm and palpitating. He had the mysterious assailant in his grip; perhaps he held the whole mystery here. He heard footsteps pattering along the corridor as Mrs. Gordon ran for assistance. He called out to her and she answered him.