ous collection of theatrical
properties all lying loose--showy necklaces, chains, pendants, all of
them obviously false; but lying beneath them, and partially hidden by
the meretricious ornaments, were one or two boxes covered with velvet
such as jewellers use. My keen eyes noted these at once. I was indeed
in luck! For the moment, however, my hand fastened on a leather case
which reposed on the top in one corner, and which very obviously, from
its shape, contained a bracelet. My hands did not tremble, though I
was quivering with excitement. I opened the case. There, indeed, was
the bracelet--the large green stones, the magnificent gold setting,
the whole jewel dazzlingly beautiful. If it were real--the thought
flashed through my mind--it would be indeed priceless. I closed the
case and put it on the dressing-table beside me. I had at least
another minute to spare--sixty seconds wherein to dive for those
velvet-covered boxes which-- My hand was on one of them when a slight
noise caused me suddenly to turn and to look behind me. It all happened
as quickly as a flash of lightning. I just saw a man disappearing
through the door. One glance at the dressing-table showed me the whole
extent of my misfortune. The case containing the bracelet had gone, and
at that precise moment I heard a commotion from the direction of the
stairs and a woman screaming at the top of her voice: "Thief! Stop
thief!"

Then, Sir, I brought upon the perilous situation that presence of mind
for which the name of Hector Ratichon will for ever remain famous.
Without a single flurried movement, I slipped one of the
velvet-covered cases which I still had in my hand into the breast
pocket of my coat, I closed down the lid of the iron chest and locked
it with the duplicate key, and I went out of the room, closing the
door behind me.

The passage was dark. The damsel was running up the stairs with a
couple of stage hands behind her. She was explaining to them volubly,
and to the accompaniment of sundry half-hysterical little cries, the
infamous hoax to which she had fallen a victim. You might think, Sir,
that here was I caught like a rat in a trap, and with that
velvet-covered case in my breast pocket by way of damning evidence
against me!

Not at all, Sir! Not at all! Not so is Hector Ratichon, the keenest
secret agent France has ever known, the confidant of kings, brought to
earth by an untoward move of fate. Even before the damsel and the
stage hand