"Yes. But it was fortunate that you did not come out of this room—upon the stairs," she said.
"Why?"
"Because he would have killed you with as little compunction as he would kill a fly," she replied slowly.
"I quite believe that. His reputation is known all over Europe," I said. "Mine was, no doubt, a fortunate escape."
"Will you let me put these pearls back?" she asked eagerly.
"No. Leave them on the table. I will replace them," I said.
"Then, what do you intend doing with me?" she asked very seriously. "Only allow me to go, and I shall always be grateful to you, M'sieur—grateful to you all my life."
And with a sudden movement she took my hand in hers, and looked so earnestly into my eyes, that I stood before her fascinated by her wonderful beauty.
The scene was indeed a strange one. She pleaded to me for her liberty, pleaded to me, throwing herself wildly upon her knees, covering her face with her hands, and bursting into a torrent of hot, bitter tears.
My duty, both towards my host and towards the guests whose jewellery had been stolen by that silent-footed, expert little thief, was to raise the alarm, and hand her over to the police.