She was hardly out of sight when Bébita and Annie came into view on the drive, returning from the morning bath. Bébita had a trouble and raced up the steps to tell him—she had lost her torch. She was quite disconsolate over it; Annie had said they’d surely find it, but it wasn’t anywhere, and she _knew_ she’d left it on the nursery table when she went to bed. In the light of subsequent events Mr. Janney thought his answer to the child had been dictated by Providence. Why he didn’t say, "Your mother knows; she had it last night," he never could explain; nor what prompted the words, "Ask your mother; she’s probably seen it somewhere." Bébita accepted the suggestion with some hope and then, hearing that her mother would not be home until the afternoon, fell into momentary dejection. Mrs. Janney was to take her accustomed drive at four and her husband said he would go with her. Some time before the hour he appeared on the balcony, cool and calm, his poise restored after the trials of the previous day and the disturbed night, and sat down to wait. Inside the house his wife was busy. Several important papers had come on the morning mail and these, with the opals, she decided to put in the safe before starting. After they were stored in their shelves and the opals back in their box she could not resist a look at her emeralds, of all her material possessions the dearest. She lifted the purple velvet case and opened it—the emeralds were not there. She stood motionless, experiencing an inner sense of upheaval, her heart leaping and then sinking down, her body shaken by a tremor such as the earth feels when rocked by a seismic throe. She tried to hold herself steady and opened the other cases—the two pearl necklaces, the sapphire rivière, the diamond and ruby tiara. As each revealed its emptiness her hands began to tremble until, when she reached the white suède box of the black pearl pendant, they shook so she could hardly find the clasp. Everything was gone—a clean sweep had been made of the Janney jewels. Moving with a firm step, she went to the balcony. In the doorway she came to a halt and said quietly to her husband: "Sam, my jewels have been stolen." Mr. Janney squared round, stared at her, and ejaculated in feeble denial: "Oh _no_!" "Oh yes," she answered with the same note of grim control, "Come and see." When he saw, his old veined hands shaking as they dropped the rifled cases, he turned and blankly faced his wife who was watching him with a level scrutiny. "Mary!" was all he could falter. "Mary, my _dear_!" "Last night," she nodded, "when we were out. The place was almost empty. I’ll call the servants." She went to the foot of the stairs and called Elspeth, old Sam, bewildered by this sudden catastrophe, emerging from the safe, as pale and shaken as if he was the burglar. "Last night, of course last night," he murmured, trying to think. "They were here at eight. I saw them, we saw them, anybody could have seen them."