She ascended the thickly-carpeted stairs noiselessly, and from the safe in her room took the square morocco box. Then, assuring herself that no servant could be watching, she carried it down to the little salon and, switching on the light, placed the box upon a small Louis Quinze table in the centre of the room.
It was a prettily-furnished apartment, with genuine old Louis Quinze furniture. In a corner was a large palm, and upon a side-table a great vase of fresh flowers. The gilt furniture shone beneath the bright light, and the whole had an effect of artistic brilliancy and daintiness.
She crossed to the drawn curtains of daffodil plush and, placing her hand within, undid the latch of the long window which led out upon the balcony and pushed it open slightly. Then, recrossing the room, she stood near the door, waiting.
There was still time before he was due to enter there and give her the letter in return for the pearls.
Of what use was it to wait there? So she switched off the light in case Bracondale should return and wonder, and passed into the adjoining room. What if Bracondale came back before the exchange were effected?
She stood holding her breath, listening in eager anxiety.
Suddenly the telephone-bell rang in the study, and in order that Jenner might not hear it and descend to answer it, she hurried to the instrument herself.
It was a call from the British Embassy in Paris. One of the secretaries spoke to her, asking whether his Excellency the Ambassador might speak to his lordship upon an important matter.
“Lord Bracondale is not in. I am Lady Bracondale,” she replied.
“When do you expect Lord Bracondale back?” the voice inquired.