"Worth ten thousand pounds!" Annette went on in the same fierce whisper. "That money with what we have saved, eh? We could take a boarding house in Mount Street and make a fortune, you and I, my Robert. Look you, these papers vanish, they are taken by a lady in a black dress. My mistress she say the lady meet with an accident and is taken to a hospital. The police come in and ask questions—ma foi! they ask questions till my head ache. Then they go away again, and my mistress leave the house again. My head ache so that I go and walk up and down the pavement to get a breath of air."
"Sounds like a scene in a play," Robert said encouragingly. "Go on, ducky!"
"As I stood there a policeman come up to me. I know that policeman; he is young to his work—he admires me. You need not look so jealous, my Robert, it is not the police where my eyes go. But he has heard of the robbery. Not that he knows its importance—no, no! He can tell all about the lady in Piccadilly who was run over. And behold he has picked up a packet of papers!"
"Good business!" Robert exclaimed. "You're something like a story-teller, Annette."
"That packet of papers he show me," Annette went on gaily. "There is an elastic band round them, and under the band an envelope with the crest of the countess upon it. Those papers were to be give up to Scotland Yard, mark you. But not if Annette knows anything about her man. Behold in a few minutes those papers are in my pocket. It is a smile, a little kiss, and the thing is done! Frown not, Robert, I have no use for that soft young policeman."
"You're a jolly deep one, that's what you are," Robert said with profound admiration. "I should like to know what those papers are all about. I suppose you've read 'em?"
"No; they are in French, the French used by the educated classes. The language is very different to my Swiss. But I have a friend who will be able to tell me what they are all about. Meanwhile, the papers are carefully hidden away where they cannot be found. My policeman, he dare not speak; even if he did, I could say that the papers were rubbish which I had thrown away. But the countess she call me a liar and a thief. She shall never see them again. What's that?"
A sudden violent ringing of the front door bell startled the supper party and the listener in the hall. Robert rose and grabbed his hat as if prepared for flight.
"No, no!" the fertile Annette whispered. "Don't go. I'll reply to that bell. It is easy to say that I have not gone to bed, and that I came down. Stay where you are. You are quite safe. It may be a cablegram, they sometimes come quite late at night. Just turn down the light."