"Norah is probably growing impatient for us," she said.
With an indescribable impulse he suddenly drew her into his arms and kissed her. It might be the last he could ever claim.
"John!" she murmured, gently disengaging herself.
"I love you," he said, "and I could not help it. Everything looks so dark."
The clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour after eleven. Cavenaugh was in his den. His desk was littered with sheets of paper, upon which were formidable columns of figures and dollar signs. He sat back in his chair and listened. He thought he heard a door or window close; he wasn't certain. It was probably one of the servants. He bit off the end of a fresh cigar and resumed his work. Let the young people play golf, if they wanted to, and dance and frivol away the precious hours; they would never know the joy of seeing one become two, two become four, and so on, till the adding grew into the ransoms of many kings. Ay, this was to live. Oh, the beautiful numerals! Brigade after brigade, corps after corps, they marched at a sign from him; an army greater than that of kings. To sit in a little room, as in a puppet-booth, and juggle the policies of the nations! Yes, Kate should have a duke and Norah a prince; he would show them all some day. Recollecting Carrington, he frowned. Did the fellow know anything, that he felt the power to refuse an offer such as he had made at the dinner-table? Bah! It would be like crushing some insect. He determined that this should be Carrington's last visit. His pen moved once more, and presently he became lost in his dreams of calculation.
But Cavenaugh's ears had not deceived him, however, for he had heard the sound of a closing window. A window had been closed, but none of the servants had been at hand.
At precisely eleven a man came swiftly but cautiously across the lawn. When he reached the long windows of the dining-room he paused, but not irresolutely. There was a sharp rasping sound, followed by the uncertain glare that makes the light of a dark-lantern separate and individual, and a window swung noiselessly inward. The room was in total darkness. The man wore a short mask, a soft felt hat well down over his eyes. He cupped his hand to his ear and strained to catch any sound. Silence. Then he dropped behind the screen, consulted a slip of paper by the light of his lantern, and with a few quick turns of the combination-knob opened the door of the safe. He extracted the envelope and thrust it into his pocket, without so much as a glance at its contents. In making his exit, the window stuck on the sill. In pressing it the lock snapped loudly. This was the sound Cavenaugh heard. The burglar ran lightly across the lawn and disappeared beyond the hedges. And none too soon.
The Cavenaugh drag rolled over the hill and went clattering up to the porte-cochère.
On the way home Carrington, his mind still wavering between this expedient and that, decided that, after all, he would take charge of the papers himself. It didn't seem quite fair that Cavenaugh's safe should protect his ultimate disgrace. So, upon entering the house, he confided his desire to Kate, who threw aside her wraps and led him into the dining-room. She had her own reasons for wishing the papers out of the safe. She turned on the lights and swirled the combination-knob. At this moment Norah came in.