them: and laughed ruefully. What qualms of conscience in a burglar
self-confessed! She was there for a purpose, a recognized, nefarious
purpose. Granted. Then why quibble?... She would not quibble. She would be
firm, resolute, determined, cold-blooded, unmindful of all kindness and
courtesy and.... She would use them, accomplish her purpose, and have done,
finally and for ever, with the whole hateful business!

There was a bright spot of color on either cheek and a hot light of anger
in her eyes as she set about her task. It would never be less hideous,
never less immediate.

The desk drawers yielded easily to the eager keys. One by one she had them
open and their contents explored--vain repetition of yesterday afternoon's
fruitless task. But she must be sure, she must leave no stone unturned.
Maitland Manor was closed to her for ever, because of last night. But here
she was safe for a few short hours, and free to make assurance doubly sure.

There remained the despatch-box, the black japanned tin box which had
proved obdurate yesterday. She had come prepared to break its lock this
time, if need be; Maitland's carelessness spared her the necessity.

She lifted it out of a lower drawer, and put it in her lap. The smallest
key fitted the lock at the first attempt. The lid came up and....

Perhaps it is not altogether discreditable that one should temporarily
forget one's compunctions in the long-deferred moment of triumph. The girl
uttered a little cry of joy.

Crash!--the front door down-stairs had been slammed.