The distinguished-looking man who was seated on Frost’s right was the famous Professor Tufts, a scientist of country-wide reputation. The little man with the crafty face, who was seated on Frost’s left, was the well-known society lawyer, named Frank Kinsley, who was popularly supposed to know more of the family secrets of the “Four Hundred” than any man in New York. “Well, I’ll be hanged!” was the waiter’s inward declaration, as he restrained himself with an effort from making a start that might have dislodged him from his precarious position. “It was enough of a poser to discover that Alfred Knox Atherton and Jackson Frost were engaged in this sort of game, but Professor Tufts and Kinsley--that’s enough to take one’s breath away!” Atherton stepped out of the car, and the others, except the chauffeur, followed suit. “Yes, this is the door,” said the former, producing a bunch of skeleton keys. “Get out the things while I manipulate this lock.” While Frost and Professor Tufts were lifting out an oblong case and a leather bag from the back of the car, Atherton picked the lock and opened the door. “We’d better put on our masks now,” he said. “I don’t suppose we’ll meet anybody, but it’s just as well to be on the safe side.” Each of the four men produced a mask of black silk, and adjusted it over the lower part of his face. “Put out those lights now,” ordered their leader, turning to the driver. “You know your orders. See that you obey them, and, above all, remember to keep your engine running, and if you hear any disturbance, have everything ready for flight the instant we return.” The chauffeur switched off the electric lights, and a moment later Atherton and his three companions were walking slowly in single file along the footpath toward the house. Atherton led the way with a small electric torch in his hand, which he turned on for a moment now and then. Professor Tufts came next, carrying the wooden case. Frost followed with the leather bag, and the lawyer brought up the rear. The waiter remained where he was until the sound of their footsteps had died away, then, with no more noise than a cat would have made, he slipped down the tree and glided after them. By the time he came in sight of the house, Atherton had forced the catch of the study window--a French window--and he and his three companions were in the act of stealing into the room. Kinsley was the last to enter, and as soon as he was inside, the curtains were again drawn across the window, but it was left open. For five or ten minutes Max Berne stood at the edge of the open space, staring at the open window. Then his curiosity overmastered him, he crept up on the terrace, fell on his hands and knees outside the window, and cautiously raised the lower edge of the curtain. What he saw caused him no surprise, for it was what he had expected to see.