“Bernard Peixada went at once to the safe, and swung open the heavy door. I lay with my back toward him, and was unable, therefore, to watch his movements. But I could hear his hands busy with rustling papers. And then, all at once, I heard his voice, loud and hoarse, sounding like the infuriated shriek of a madman, ’I have been robbed—robbed!’
“Like a lightning flash, it broke upon me. I knew what the paper I had stolen was. I knew what the mysterious figures it bore meant. I had stolen the combination that Bernard Peixada had come in quest of! Without that combination their scheme of midnight crime could not be carried through! It was indispensable to their success. And I had stolen it! I thanked God for the impulse that had prompted me to do so. Then I lay still and waited. My heart was throbbing so violently, I was actually afraid that Bernard Peixada might hear it. I lay still and waited and prayed as I had never prayed before. I prayed for strength to win in the battle which, I knew, would now j shortly have to be fought.
“Bernard Peixada cried out, ’I have been robbed—robbed!’ Then for a few seconds he was silent. Then he ran to the entrance of the room and shouted, ’Bolen, Bolen, come here.’ And when Edward Bolen had obeyed, Bernard Peixada led him to the safe and said—ah, how his harsh voice shook!—said, ’Look! I have been robbed. The combination is gone. I put it in there with my own hands. It is there no longer. It has been stolen. Who stole it? If you did, by God, I’ll have you hanged!’
“I had slowly and noiselessly turned over in bed. Now, through half closed eyes, I could watch the two men. Bernard Peixada’s body was trembling from head to foot, as if palsy-stricken. His small, black eyes were starting from their sockets. His yellow fangs shone hideously behind his parted lips. His talons writhed, writhed, writhed. Edward Bolen stood next his master, as stolid as an ox. Edward Bolen appeared to be thinking. In a little while Edward Bolen shrugged his massive shoulders, lifted his arm, pointed to my bed, and spoke one word, ’Her.’
“Bernard Peixada started. ’What—my wife?’ he gasped.
“‘Ask her,’ suggested Edward Bolen.
“Bernard Peixada seemed to hesitate. Finally, approaching my bedside, ’Judith,’ he called through chattering teeth..
“I did not answer—but it was not that I meant still to pretend sleep. It was that my courage had deserted me. I had no voice. I clenched my fists and made my utmost effort to command myself.
“‘Judith,’ Bernard Peixada called a second time.
“‘Yes,’ I gathered strength to respond.