She had paused by an alcove, and as she laid her hand on one of the long portières hanging before it, a figure flitted by her, raced noiselessly to the back of the hall, raised a window and vaulted through it. Thoroughly frightened Ethel started forward to ring the hall bell, but a sound behind her caused her to retreat hastily into the shelter of the curtained alcove. Peering cautiously out from behind the portière, she was thunderstruck at the sight of Julian Barclay. Whether he came from the library, the drawing room, or the entrance leading to the servants’ quarters it was impossible to tell, as he was well in the hall when she saw him. Had he detected her presence?
Too surprised to call out, Ethel watched him cross the hall and make for the open window. He looked out for a second, then drew back and moved swiftly over to the huge carved mantel. By aid of the hall light, which Walter Ogden kept burning all night, Ethel saw that Barclay wore dark trousers and a dark tightly fitting jersey. Pausing by the mantel Barclay took from an inside pocket a small object and, first touching it to his lips, placed it in one of the Dresden china jars standing on the mantel, then running back to the window, he vaulted through it.
Completely mystified and not a little terrified, Ethel paused undecidedly; then her woman’s curiosity conquered, and she crept softly over to the mantel. What was it that Barclay had handled so tenderly? She slipped her hand inside the jar and taking out a small package wrapped in chamois, unrolled it. It was a miniature of herself.
For one moment Ethel stared at it with unbelieving eyes, then, her face suffused with blushes, she started to return the miniature to its hiding place inside the jar when she became conscious that someone was watching her from the staircase. Wheeling about she saw Professor Norcross, a sweater drawn over his hastily donned trousers, and caught the glint of light on the revolver in his hand. Seeing she had observed him, he raised his finger to his lips, and crossing the hall, joined her.
“Did he go that way?” he whispered, indicating the open window.
“Yes.” Ethel slipped the miniature unseen inside her pocket.
The professor, not waiting for her answer, hurried to the window. A second more and Ethel was by his side, peering eagerly out into the night. It was a fair drop to the ground below, but near at hand was the low roof of the garage. Ethel, wondering if Barclay and the man he pursued had used that means to reach the yard, looked farther down the yard to where the alley light cast some illumination, and her heart beat fast at sight of Julian Barclay sitting astride the brick wall. The watchers saw him lean downward toward the alley side, and a faint whisper reached them.
“Ito, I tell you I have no more money to spare.”
How many minutes Ethel stood by the window she never knew, but a strong hand drew her back across the hall and inside the portières of the alcove as a noise of someone scrambling upward cut the stillness. A few seconds later Julian Barclay clambered through the window, turned, closed it, and sped swiftly up the staircase.
In silence Ethel walked over to the staircase, Norcross at her side, but under the full rays from the electric light on the newel post she recoiled at the expression in the professor’s eyes.