there was still ample space and opportunity. Philip Rheinholdt, with a
pretty young débutante upon his arm, came out from the dancing room and
looked around amongst the little knots of people.

"I wonder where mother is," he remarked.

"Looking after some guests somewhere, for certain," the girl replied.
"Your mother is so wonderful at entertaining, Philip."

"It's the hobby of her life," he declared. "Never so happy as when she can
get hold of somebody every one's talking about, and show him off. Can't
think what she's done with herself now, though. She told me--"

The young man broke off in the middle of his sentence. He, too, like many
others in the room, felt a sudden thrill almost of horror at the sound
which rang without warning upon their ears--a woman's cry, a cry of fear
and horror, repeated again and again. There was a little rush towards the
curtained space which led into the conservatories. Before even, however,
the quickest could reach the spot, the curtains were thrown back and Mrs.
Rheinholdt, her hands clasping her neck, her splendid composure a thing of
the past, a panic-stricken, terrified woman, stumbled into the room. She
seemed on the point of collapse. Somehow or other, they got her into an
easy-chair.

"My jewels!" she cried. "My diamonds!"

"What do you mean, mother?" Philip Rheinholdt asked quickly. "Have you
lost them?"

"Stolen!" Mrs. Rheinholdt shrieked. "Stolen there in the conservatory!"