She came at length breathless with running to the end of the garden. A little green gate led to the lane which divided Lytton Avenue from the corner house. It was absolutely quiet there. Leona Lalage could catch just the faintest humming noise, then a glaring white eye flamed out.
Behind it was a black motor and the form of Balmayne.
"Never can trust a woman as to time," he growled. There was not the faintest shadow of politeness in his manner now. "Didn\'t I say twelve sharp?"
"I was detained," the Countess gasped. "After all, what are a few minutes?"
"Everything. Maitrank reaches Charing Cross in a little over half an hour, and it is absolutely imperative that I should see the arrival and find out where he stays. I suppose you can see that?"
The Countess had no more to say. She held out her hand silently. She tore all her long train of lace and silk away as if it had been rags, she buttoned a cloak over her dress; a blonde wig and lace shawl over her head completed the disguise.
"Come along," she said. "I\'ve got the key of the courtyard. Not that we are in the least likely to find anything there?"
"And why not?" Balmayne growled. "Stranger things have happened. I know a poor man at this minute who owns one of the richest gold mines in the world. He won\'t work it because when the gold was found he quarrelled with his partner on the spot and killed him. That\'s a fact."
"I\'d get it out of him," Leona said between her teeth. "I\'d like to bind him and torture him bit by bit until he yelled out the truth. Well, Charlton was always a strange man, and the jewels may be there yet. That is one of the reasons why I took up my abode in Lytton Avenue."
"One of the reasons," Balmayne said sardonically.
"Never mind that, we know too much about one another to say much. I\'ll open the door whilst you push the motor in. Quiet as the grave."
It was very quiet and still there when once the gates were closed. Balmayne took one of the lamps from the motor and extinguished the other. In the centre of the place was the well, partially covered over by a flat stone. There was a windlass, but no rope. Balmayne produced one. Very carefully he fitted it to the windlass. His dark eyes gleamed and dilated.
Quickly he lowered the rope till the bulge of it showed that the bottom was reached. He wound up the rope again, and as he did so a grunt of satisfaction escaped him. It was far better than he had expected.
"Here\'s a piece of rare good luck," he exclaimed. "Why, the well is dry."
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CHAPTER XXIII. TEN MINUTES PAST TWELVE.
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CHAPTER XXV. A CHECK.
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