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He found a letter in his box when he went downstairs, after stuffing the tin box deep into his pack, a risky thing to do he realised, but no longer perilous in the light of developments. It was no longer probable that his effects would be subjected to inspection by the police. He walked over to a window to read the letter. Before he slit the envelope he knew that Sprouse was the writer.
Barnes had admitted that he was bound by a promise to aid the prisoner in an effort to escape from the house; even a slow-witted person would have reached the conclusion that a partial understanding at least existed between captive and champion. Sprouse staked everything on that conviction. Through Barnes he counted on effecting an entrance to the almost hermetically sealed house.
He opened it and Sprouse slid into the room. The instant the door closed behind him, he threw open his coat and coolly produced a long, shallow metal box, such as one finds in safety vaults. "With my compliments," he said drily, thrusting the box into Barnes's hands. "You'd better have the Countess check them up and see if they're all there.
Sprouse, and to apply for extradition papers?" he asked. "I can't land him in jail unless I can prove that he has the stolen goods, can I?" "You could implicate him in the general conspiracy." "That is for others to say, sir. I am only instructed to recover the treasure." "And the young woman, what of her? She would, in any case, be held for examination and "
What is the true story of the crown jewels?" She did not reply at once. When she spoke it was to ask a question of him. "Do you know who he really is, I mean the man known to you as Mr. Loeb?" "Not positively. I am led to believe that he is indirectly in line to succeed to the throne of your country." "Tell me something about Sprouse.
"Is he to come to the Tavern with them? Or am I to meet him " "Good Lord!" he gulped. Here was a contingency he had not considered. Where and when would Sprouse appear with his booty? "I I fancy we'll find him waiting for us at the Tavern." "But had you no understanding?" "Er tentatively." The perspiration started on his brow.
Barnes said good night to the man and entered the Tavern a few minutes later. Putnam Jones was behind the desk and facing him was the little book-agent. "Hello, stranger," greeted the landlord. "Been sashaying in society, hey? Meet my friend Mr. Sprouse, Mr. Barnes. Sic-em, Sprouse! Give him the Dickens!" Mr. Jones laughed loudly at his own jest. Sprouse shook hands with his victim.
"A meddler, am I? Good morning, Mr. Sprouts. I fancy " "Sprouse. But the name doesn't matter. Keep your seat. You may learn something that will be of untold value to you. I used the word meddler in a professional sense. You are inexperienced. You would behave like a bull in a china shop. I've been working for nearly six months on a job that you think you can clear up in a couple of days.
I must insist " "I am not asking you to go into the house, my friend. I shall go alone," said Sprouse coolly. "On the other hand, I came up here to rescue a helpless, " "Oh, we will attend to that also," said Sprouse. "The treasure comes first, however. Has it not occurred to you that she will refuse to be rescued unless the jewels can be brought away with her?
He saw no other way out of the new and somewhat extraordinary situation. His uneasiness increased to consternation when he discovered that Sprouse had not yet put in an appearance. What had become of the man? He could not help feeling, however, that somehow the little agent would suddenly pop out of the chimney in his room, or sneak in through a crack under the door, and laugh at his fears.
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