"What's up?" he asked. "What's he gone for?" "The police are there," answered his wife. "Good God!" exclaimed the astounded husband, now on his feet. "You don't mean you've sprung that trap on the poor devil? You--" "Sit down, Jim," broke in his wife with enforced calmness. "Sit down and wait." "But I won't be made a fool of!" "You're not being made a fool of!" "But who's arresting this man? Who's got the evidence to justify what's being done here?" "I have," was the woman's answer. "What do you mean?" She was very calm about it. "I mean that Witter was right. _My Baroda pearls and the emerald pendant were not in the safe. They're gone._" "They're gone?" echoed the incredulous husband. "Listen," I suddenly cried, as Van Tuyl sat digesting his discovery. We heard the sound of steps, the slam of a door, and the departing hum of a motor-car. Before I realized what she was doing Beatrice Van Tuyl's foot was once more on the call bell. A footman answered the summons. "Go to the street door," she commanded, "and see who's there." We waited, listening. The silence lengthened. Something about that silence impressed me as ominous. We were still intently listening as the footman stepped back into the room. "It's the chauffeur, sir," he explained. "And what does he want?" "He said Felice telephoned for the car a quarter of an hour ago." "Send Felice to me," commanded my hostess. "I don't think I can, ma'am. _She's gone in the car with Wilkins_." "With Wilkins?" "Yes, ma'am. Markson says he can't make it out, ma'am, Wilkins driving off that way without so much as a by-your-leave, ma'am." The three of us rose as one from the table. For a second or two we stood staring at one another. Then Van Tuyl suddenly dived for the stairs, with the napkin full of jewelry in his hand. I, in turn, dived for the street door. But before I opened it I knew it was too late. I suddenly stepped back into the hallway, to confront Beatrice Van Tuyl. "How long have you had Felice?" I asked, groping impotently about the hall closet for my hat and coat. "She came two weeks before Wilkins," was the answer. "Then you see what this means?" I asked, still groping about for my overcoat. "What _can_ it mean?" "They were working together--they were confederates." Van Tuyl descended the stairs still carrying the table napkin full of jewelry. His eyes were wide with indignant wonder. "It's gone!" he gasped. "He's taken your box!" I emerged from the hall closet both a little startled and a little humiliated. "Yes, and he's taken my hat and coat," I sadly confessed. CHAPTER VII THE PANAMA GOLD CHESTS