Chapter Sixteen.
Light Fingers.
Her Highness was face to face with one of those clever international criminals whose coups were so constantly being reported in the Continental press.
She looked straight into his countenance, a long, intense look, half of reproach, half of surprise, and then, in a firm voice, said,—
“Mr Bourne, I owe you a very great debt. To-day I will endeavour to repay it. Your secret, and the secret of the theft, shall remain mine.”
“And you will give no information to the police?” he exclaimed quickly—“you promise that?”
“I promise,” she said. “I admire you for your frankness. But, tell me—it was not you who took my bag at the station?”
“No. But it was one of us,” he explained. “When the bag containing the jewels was opened I found, very fortunately, several letters addressed to you—letters which you evidently brought with you from Treysa. Then I knew that the jewels were yours, and determined, if I could find you, to restore them to you with our apologies.”
“Why?” she asked. “You surely do not get possession of jewels of that value every day?”
“No, Princess. But the reason is, that although my companions are thieves, they are not entirely devoid of the respect due to a woman. They have read in the newspapers of your domestic unhappiness, and of your flight with the little Princess, and have decided that to rob a defenceless woman, as you are at this moment, is a cowardly act. Though we are thieves, we still have left some vestige of chivalry.”