Her suggestion appalled me. I was to commit a second theft as the price of the first! The pretty wife of the great Sheffield ironmaster was a thief herself at heart! Truly, the situation was a strange and bewildering one. I protested, and pointed out the risk and difficulties, but she met all my arguments with remarkable cleverness. "I know Madame," she said. "I will make your path smooth for you, and I myself will spirit the jewel out of France so that no possible suspicion can attach to you," was her reply. "Will you leave it all to me?" We walked on down the well-lit boulevard, my brain a-whirl, until at last, pressed hard by her, I consented to act as she directed. I found, in the course of the next three days, that Lady Lydbrook's whole life was centered upon the possession of jewels of great value, and I was amazed to discover how very cleverly she plotted the coup which I was to carry out. One evening, after dinner, she introduced me casually to the rich widow, an ugly overdressed old woman who was wearing as a pendant the famous Dent du Chat. It was, to say the least, a wonderful gem. But I passed as a person of no importance. Next night with Lady Lydbrook's help I was, however, able to get into the old woman's bedroom and carry out my contract for the preservation of silence concerning the affair at Eastbourne. I shall always recollect the moment when I slipped the pendant into Lady Lydbrook's soft hand as she stood in _deshabille_ at the half-opened door of her bedroom and her quick whispered words: "I shall be away by the first train. Stay here to-morrow and cross to London the next day. _Au revoir!_ Let us meet again soon!" And she gripped my hand warmly in hers and closed her door noiselessly. Ah! A week later I learned how, by Rayne's devilish cunning, I had been tricked. When I knew the truth, I bit my lips to the blood. The widow Rodanet had, it appeared, been staying at the Palais, in Biarritz, when Duperre and I had been there. She had been marked down by Rayne as a victim, for the Dent du Chat was a stone of enormous value. The planned robbery had, however, gone wrong and we had been compelled to return to London. Then Rayne had conceived the sinister idea of sending me to Lady Lydbrook--who was not Sir Owen's wife at all but one of his agents like myself, and whose real name was Betty Tressider--a girl-thief whose chief possession was a rope of imitation pearls. I, alas! dropped into the trap, whereupon she, on her part, compelled me to steal old Madame Rodanet's wonderful ruby; and thus, though I confess it to my shame, I became an actual thief and one of Rudolph Rayne's active agents. What happened to me further I will now tell you. CHAPTER IX LOLA IS AGAIN SUSPICIOUS The devilish cunning of Rudolph Rayne was indeed well illustrated by the clever trap which he had set for me by the instrumentality of that pretty woman-thief, Betty Tressider, who called herself Lady Lydbrook.