the charred fragments on the table. With the same glance that told me
that, I knew the man. It was Schwartz.

I was so engrossed in watching him that when he turned and came directly
to the window, I stood perfectly still, staring at him. With the light
at his back, I felt certain I had been discovered, but I was wrong. He
shook the newspaper which had held the fragments, out of the window,
lighted a cigarette and flung the match out also, and turned back into
the room. As a second thought, he went back and jerked at the cord of
the window-shade, but it refused to move.

He was not alone, for from the window he turned and addressed some one
in the room behind.

"You are sure you got them all?" he said.

The other occupant of the room came within range of vision. It was
Davidson.

"All there were, Mr. Schwartz," he replied. "We were nearly finished
before the woman made a bolt." He was fumbling in his pockets. I think I
expected him to produce an apple and a penknife, but he held out a small
object on the palm of his hand.

"I would rather have done it alone, Mr. Schwartz," he said. "I found
this ring in Brigg's pocket this morning. It belongs to the girl."

Schwartz swore, and picking up the ring, held it to the light. Then he
made an angry motion to throw it out of the window, but his German
cupidity got the better of him. He slid it into his vest pocket instead.

"You're damned poor stuff, Davidson," he said, with a snarl. "If she
hasn't got them, then Wardrop has. You'll bungle this job and there'll
be hell to pay. Tell McFeely I want to see him."

Davidson left, for I heard the door close. Schwartz took the ring out
and held it to the light. I looked at my watch. The time was almost up.

A fresh burst of noise came from below. I leaned out cautiously and
looked down at the lower windows; they were still closed and shuttered.
When I raised my eyes again to the level of the room across, I was
amazed to see a second figure in the room--a woman, at that.

Schwartz had not seen her. He stood with his back to her, looking at the
ring in his hand. The woman had thrown her veil back, but I could see
nothing of her face as she stood. She looked small beside Schwartz's
towering height, and she wore black.

She must have said something just then, very quietly, for Schwartz
suddenly lifted his head and wheeled on her. I had a clear view of him,
and if ever guilt, rage, and white-lipped fear showed on a man's face