“Dear me!” said the major, “I suppose it is. I never thought of that.” “Wait here till I see if it is all right,” I said, “and then I’ll come back and tell you.” I went into the hall and looked over the banister. The gas was burning faintly, and a bar of pink lamplight fell out from the half-drawn portières of the drawing-room. There was not a sound. I knew the servants were all in the back part of the house, quite safe till eleven o’clock, when, if we were home, they turned out the lights and locked up. I stole softly back into my room. The major was standing in front of the mirror untying the handkerchief that hung round his neck. “It’s all right,” I assured him, in an unconsciously lowered voice. “You can go quite easily; I’ll let you out. Only you mustn’t make the least bit of noise.” He thrust the handkerchief in his pocket and put on his hat, pulling the brim down over his eyes. I must confess he didn’t look half so distinguished this way. When the handkerchief was gone, I saw he wore a flannel shirt with a turned-down collar, and with his hat shading his face he certainly did seem a strange sort of man for me to be conducting down the stairs at half-past ten at night. If Perkins, who’d come to us bristling with respectability from a distinguished, evangelical, aristocratic family, should meet us, I would never hold up my head again. “Now, if you hear Perkins,” I whispered, “for heavens’ sake, hide somewhere. Run back to my room, if you can’t go anywhere else. Perkins _must not_ see you!” The major growled out some reply, and we tiptoed breathlessly across the hall to the stair-head. I was much more frightened than he was. I know, as I stole from step to step, my heart kept beating faster and faster. Such awful things might have happened: Perkins suddenly appear to put out the lights; Cassius come home early from the dinner, and open the front door just as I was about to let the major out! When we reached the door I was quite faint, while the major seemed as cool as if he’d been paying a call. “Very kind of you, I’m sure,” he said, trying to take off his hat. “I shan’t forget it.” “Oh, never mind being polite,” I gasped. “You’ve got the diamonds. That’s all that matters. Good-night. Give my regards to Mrs. Thatcher.” And he was gone! I shut the door and crept up-stairs. First I felt faint, and then I felt hysterical. When Cassius came home at eleven I was lying on the sofa in tears, and all I could say to him was to sob: “The diamonds are gone! The diamonds are gone!” He thought I’d gone mad at first, and then when I finally made him understand he was nearly as excited as I. He went down-stairs and brought up a bottle of champagne, and we celebrated at midnight up in our room. We had to tell lies to Perkins afterward to explain how we came to be one bottle short. But what did lies matter, or even Perkins’ opinion of us? We were no longer crushed under the weight of one hundred and sixty-two diamonds that didn’t belong to us!