“That was the agreement. You promised that no harm should come to me.”
“None will. Remember, too, that I promised you ten thousand dollars for your share of the plunder. That will more than pay your debts and set you on your feet. It’s not a bad reward, Dorson, for a mere bit of safe and important work.”
“That’s the only inducement.” Dorson’s face was haggard and clouded. “I’ll chuck everything, honor and self-respect, in order to square myself. But what is this safe and important work? What must I do?”
Professor Graff took from his pocket a small celluloid box with a close-fitting cover. He caressed it fondly for a moment, with an abnormal gleam and glitter in his narrow eyes, then leaned forward and said impulsively:
“Listen! You are to take this, but do not for your life venture to open it before the fateful moment arrives. The box is air-tight, but its cover can be easily removed. It contains only a lady’s handkerchief.”
“What am I to do with it?” Dorson asked, gazing curiously at the smooth white box.
“Take it to the reception,” Graff directed. “You are familiar with the ballroom and its surroundings, with the row of French windows that open upon the west balcony roof near the porte-cochère.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Dorson said impatiently. “I know all that.”
“Note me, then,” Graff continued. “I will be at the ball to give you a signal. We must not be seen together, however, nor in any way betray that we are acquainted.”
“Well?”