“How terrible!” she murmured. “And I an amateur lady cop!
“It was stolen!” she concluded. “And I know who took it.” Words spoken only last night came back to her: “I take what I want.”
Like a flash she was up on the steps and ringing the bell.
“Does the person they call Hugo live here?” she asked the lady who came to the door.
“Oh yes,” the woman replied. “But he’s not here just now. We expect him back any time. Would you care to wait?”
“No, I—I’ll come back later.” Florence turned away to mutter under her breath, “Only I won’t.”
For some time after that, in the shadow of a great elm, she stood watching that room and that one small picture. Hugo did not appear. In time the woman of the house opened the door to snap off the light.
“Oh!” Florence drew in a long deep breath. Her moment had arrived. She moved swiftly. Screens had been removed from the house. The window was not locked. To lift it noiselessly, to step within was the work of seconds. Moving slowly in the pale moonlight, she crossed the room. Her hand was on the picture when a footstep sounded outside. Her heart stopped beating. What if it were Hugo! Supposing the moonlight were strong enough to expose her?
She thought of the night before, and gained courage. “But tonight I am not dressed as a man.” Her heart sank.
The footsteps continued. The person did not turn in. For the moment she was saved.