"What is it? What is the matter?" she cried anxiously.

The box clattered from the colonel's hands to the floor.

"It is gone!" he said hoarsely. "It has been stolen!"

"_Gone!_" She ran wildly forward. "Stolen! No, no--it cannot be gone!"

They stared for a moment into each other's faces, and from each other's
faces stared at the rifled box upon the floor--and then a look of wan
misery crept gray upon the little old lady, and she swayed backward.

With a cry, that to Jimmie Dale seemed one of more poignant anguish than
he had ever heard before, the old gentleman caught her in his arms and
supported her to a chair; then running quickly to the hall, called
loudly for the maid below.

There was a merciless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips. He was retreating now
further back into the room toward the door that gave on the hall.

"I wonder," said Jimmie Dale to himself through set teeth, "I wonder if
a man wouldn't be justified in putting an end _for keeps_ to that devil
Thorold for this!"

He heard the maid come rushing up the stairs. He could no longer see
into the other room now, but a confused mingling of voices reached him:

"... The police ... next door and telephone ... the light ... while we
were at dinner...."