expert would know they weren't real. Raoul isn't an expert; so at the
moment he fitted the key into the lock of the safe to open the door, I
gave a sly little pull, and broke the thread, making the pearls roll
everywhere about the floor. He was quite distressed, forgot all about
the key in the lock, and flew to pick up the pearls as if each one were
worth at least a thousand francs.

"While he was busy finding the lost beads, I whipped out the key, took
an impression of it on a piece of wax I had ready, concealed in my
handkerchief, and slipped it back into the lock while he was still on
his hands and knees on the floor. Then he opened the safe-door for a
moment, just to give me the peep I had begged for, but not long enough
for me to touch anything even if I'd dared to try with him standing
there. Enough, though, to show me that the documents were neatly
arranged in labelled pigeon-holes, and to see their general character,
colour, and shape. That same day a key to fit the lock was being made;
and when it was ready, I made an excuse to call again on Raoul at the
office. Not that a very elaborate excuse was needed. The poor fellow,
trusting me as he trusts himself, or more, was only too glad to have me
come to him, even in that sacred place. Now, the thing was to get him
away. But I'd made up my mind what to do. In another office, upstairs,
was a friend of Raoul's--the one who introduced us to each other, and
I'd made up a message for him, which I begged Raoul to take, and bring
his friend to speak to me. He went, and I believed I might count on five
minutes to myself. No more--but those five minutes would have to be
enough for success or failure. The instant the door shut behind Raoul, I
was at the safe. The key fitted. I snatched out a folded document, and
opened it to make quite, quite certain it was the right one, for a
mistake would be inexcusable and spoil everything. It was what I
wanted--the treaty, newly made, between Japan, Russia and France--the