For a full, strained moment not a sound escaped the company; even the strongest natures, Slade, Majendie and Rita Kildair seemed powerless to grasp what had taken place. Then the realization came, in a flash. What the first thief had failed to carry through another had boldly dared: a man or a woman, deliberately or hysterically, had seized the opportunity that had lain there, in the darkness, between the sixty-first second and the hundredth count. The match in Slade’s hands burned his fingers, and went out. In the sudden blackness a dozen cries were heard: "Light the candle!" "Turn on the electric light!" "Search the floor!" "Stolen again!" "Ghastly!" "A light! A light!" Another match sputtered, and one candle caught the flame and flung its expanding circles of light around them. "It must have rolled to the floor," said Majendie’s voice, among the first. "Nonsense!" broke in Slade’s powerful bass. "There are no carpets; we would have heard it. There is a second thief here. Every one must be searched. Mrs. Kildair, if you wish I’ll call up my detective agency." "No," said Mrs. Kildair instantly, and her voice had regained its calm. "I will attend to that myself." She went quickly to the door into the bedroom, unlocked it, passed through, and locked it again. A moment later the impatient ring of a telephone was heard. In the ill-lit studio the greatest confusion prevailed. Every one seemed, by a common impulse, to desire to escape to the farthest ends of the room, stumbling and bumping against one another in the obscurity. Some instinct impelled Beecher to Nan Charters’ side. He took her arm with a strong, reassuring grip, expecting to find her still shaken with emotion; but, to his amazement, he found her entirely collected. "Thank you, I am all right," she said, releasing herself, with a little smile. "Are you sure?" he said doubtfully. At this moment, as he stood staring at her, perplexed, Slade’s voice rang out peremptorily: "The electric lights—some one turn on the lights!" He left her, and, going to the wall toward the antechamber, pressed the three buttons embedded there. Instantly the great room was showered with a brutal glare. Near the piano, Mrs. Cheever was sunk in an arm-chair, in a seemingly hysterical state, while Mr. Cheever, glass in hand, was bending over her; Mrs. Bloodgood was seated at the dining-table, her head resting in her hands; Garraboy and Bloodgood were turning in the middle of the floor. Only Maud Lille, stoic and alert, remained at her original place. Slade and Majendie were carefully exploring the floor. Beecher did not at once return to his companion. Her sudden change perplexed him with thoughts that he did not wish to analyze too deeply. He expected that she would rejoin Mrs. Bloodgood; but the young actress, as though purposely avoiding her, went finally to where Maud Lille was standing, and said, with a command that startled Beecher: