“From zis, my good girl,” said Lady Molly, quietly; “that if I leave zis room wizout ze photograph, I go straight to ze police with zis letter, and you shall be prosecuted by ze Grand Duke, my son, for blackmailing his wife. You see, I am not like my daughter-in-law; I am not afraid of a scandal. So you vill fetch ze photograph--isn’t it? I and ze Princess Amalie vill vait for it here. Zat is your bedroom--not?” she added, pointing to a door which obviously gave on an inner room. “Vill you put on your hat and go at once, please? Two tousend pound or two years in prison--you have ze choice--isn’t it?” Jane Turner tried to keep up her air of defiance, looking Lady Molly full in the face; but I who watched her could see the boldness in her eyes gradually giving place to fear, and then to terror and even despair; the girl’s face seemed literally to grow old as I looked at it--pale, haggard, and drawn--whilst Lady Molly kept her stern, luminous eyes fixed steadily upon her. Then, with a curious, wild gesture, which somehow filled me with a nameless fear, Jane Turner turned on her heel and ran into the inner room. There followed a moment of silence. To me it was tense and agonising. I was straining my ears to hear what was going on in that inner room. That my dear lady was not as callous as she wished to appear was shown by the strange look of expectancy in her beautiful eyes. The minutes sped on--how many I could not afterwards have said. I was conscious of a clock ticking monotonously over the shabby mantelpiece, of an errand boy outside shouting at the top of his voice, of the measured step of the cab horse which had brought us hither being walked up and down the street. Then suddenly there was a violent crash, as of heavy furniture being thrown down. I could not suppress a scream, for my nerves by now were terribly on the jar. “Quick, Mary--the inner room!” said Lady Molly. “I thought the girl might do that.” I dared not pause in order to ask what “that” meant, but flew to the door. It was locked. “Downstairs--quick!” commanded my lady. “I ordered Danvers to be on the watch outside.” You may imagine how I flew, and how I blessed my dear lady’s forethought in the midst of her daring plan, when, having literally torn open the front door, I saw Inspector Danvers in plain clothes, calmly patrolling the street. I beckoned to him--he was keeping a sharp look-out--and together we ran back into the house. Fortunately, the landlady and the servant were busy in the basement, and had neither heard the crash nor seen me run in search of Danvers. My dear lady was still alone in the dingy parlour, stooping against the door of the inner room, her ear glued to the key-hole. “Not too late, I think,” she whispered hurriedly. “Break it open, Danvers.” Danvers, who is a great, strong man, soon put his shoulder to the rickety door, which yielded to the first blow.