“There will be no rope of pearls.” Graff’s teeth met with a vicious snap. “All that must be done can be done in a single minute. When help comes, when you return, when the woman revives, though all occurs within a minute, there will be no rope of pearls. It will have been stolen—mysteriously stolen.”
“But I may be suspected,” argued Dorson.
“Absurd! You could not possibly steal and dispose of it under the seeming conditions. The woman will believe she was faint only for a moment. She will not be sure it was then that she lost the pearls. She is your aunt, moreover, and would refuse to suspect you.”
“But your infernal stuff may fail to work,” Dorson suggested.
“It will not fail. It cannot fail.” Graff spoke with convincing assurance. “I have tested it upon no less than four subjects, Dorson, to make sure of success in this undertaking. There is nothing for you to fear, absolutely nothing.”
“I’ll tackle it, then, and take the chance.” Dorson abruptly declared, thrusting the celluloid box into his pocket. “Is there anything more?”
Professor Graff hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.
“No, nothing for us to discuss,” he replied.
“But you mentioned a tough proposition that you would speak of presently. What did you mean by that?” Dorson demanded suspiciously.
“Only that an unexpected force is at work against us, one that many would fear, and with which few could successfully cope.” Graff’s voice took on a more virulent intensity. “But I do not fear. I can oppose and overcome it. My agents are already at work. I have given warning, too, as I have warned you, and if pressed too hard, if threats prove futile, if the peril becomes really alarming—well, you see! You have seen for yourself, Dorson, how I can overcome it. There is always a way—always a way.”