[Chapter IX]
Sylvia, meanwhile, had heard Stanley Heath call Marcia and hailed her aunt's departure from the kitchen as the opportunity for which she had so anxiously been waiting.
No sooner was the elder woman upstairs and out of earshot than she tiptoed from her room, the monogrammed handkerchief in her pocket.
She had pried out the brick and had the jewel-case in her hand, wrapped and ready for its return when conversation overhead suddenly ceased and she heard Marcia pass through the hall and start down stairs.
Sylvia gasped. She must not be found here. Yet what was she to do?
There was no chance now to put the package back and replace the brick which fitted so tightly that its adjustment was a process requiring patience, care, and time.
Flustered, frightened, she jammed the jewel-case into her dress and frantically restoring the brick to the yawning hole in the hearth as best she could, she fled up the back stairs at the same moment Marcia descended the front ones.
Once in her room, she closed and locked the door and sank panting into a chair to recover her breath.