d crown. The pearl-stringer knew
something about crowns and coronets: duchesses, countesses, baronesses,
and small fry like that. But this crown was royal. She was going to get
good "copy" for her notes!

Beverley's hand moved toward the purple case. She was in a desperate
hurry to get her business with Miss Blackburne over, and escape into the
hall again. She must try to have a word with Roger before he went,
though she dared not--literally dared not--go to his room.

"You'll see the pearls, and----" she had begun, when her ears caught the
sound of an electric bell; a loud, insistent peal.

XVII

THE MYSTERY OF THE BOUDOIR

"It's Roger," Beverley thought. "He's ringing for Johnson--perhaps to
ask more questions!"

"I must speak to my husband," she said to Miss Blackburne. "The pearls
are in that case. There are two hundred and fifty. About thirty came
unstrung. You'll see for yourself how they ought to be graduated. I'll
be with you again in a few minutes."

She flew to the hall, hoping to intercept Johnson before he could reach
Roger's room. But the man was not on his way there. It was the sound of
the door-bell she had heard. Johnson was in the act of admitting a girl
in a black chiffon cloak lined with blue. A large frilled hood pulled
over the wearer's eyes hid the profile from Beverley. The girl turned;
it was Clo.

"I'll go with you to your room," Beverley said, controlling her voice
for the benefit of Johnson, and trying not to show how frantic was her
haste. It was only when she had noiselessly closed the door of the big,
bare room, that she dared let herself go.

"What's happened?" she implored. "Why are you dressed like this? Of
course you haven't got the papers?"

"I dressed like this to make a get-away," said Clo. "I stole the cloak.
I'll tell you everything by and by. But first, you must find out for
yourself whether I've got the papers. I've got something--something in a
thick envelope. That's all I know."

She threw off the cloak of the girl at the Dietz, and unpinned the
pocket which held the precious package--the pocket which, thanks to the
pin, had guarded its contents through the whole series of her
adventures.

Beverley took the large linen envelope, not even thanking Clo. Neither
noticed the omission.

"Addressed to Justin O'Reilly!" she exclaimed. "It's the right size. But
what makes you think it may have my envelope inside?"

"Because it was carefully hidden in a safe i