"I saw you take it from the little table by the piano, you know,"
he continued. "It was rather a rash thing to do. Mrs.
Fitzgerald was looking for it before I reached the stairs. I
expect she has called the police in by now."

Slowly her hand stole into the depths of her pocket and emerged.
Something flashed for a moment high over her head. The young man
caught her wrist just in time, caught it in a veritable grip of
iron. Then, indeed, the evil fires flashed from her eyes, her
teeth gleamed white, her bosom rose and fell in a storm of angry,
unuttered sobs. She was dry-eyed and still speechless, but for
all that she was a tigress. A strangely-cut silhouette they
formed there upon the housetops, with a background of empty sky,
their feet sinking in the warm leads.

"I think I had better take it," he said. "Let go."

Her fingers yielded the bracelet--a tawdry, ill-designed affair
of rubies and diamonds. He looked at it disapprovingly.

"That's an ugly thing to go to prison for," he remarked, slipping
it into his pocket. "It was a stupid thing to do, anyhow, you
know. You couldn't have got away with it--unless," he added,
looking over the parapet as though struck with a sudden idea,
"unless you had a confederate below."

He heard the rush of her skirts and he was only just in time.
Nothing, in fact, but a considerable amount of presence of mind
and the full exercise of a strength which was continually