"You don't know all yet. I haven't told you. But I will tell you--if you will listen. Once when Burke and I were talking of Guy--it was almost the first time--he said that he had done almost everything bad except one thing. He had never robbed him. And somehow I felt that so long as there was that one great exception he would not regard him as utterly beyond redemption. But now--but now--" her voice quivered again--"well, even that can't be said of him now," she said. "What? He has taken money?" Kelly looked at her in swift dismay. "Ye don't mean that!" he said. And then quickly: "Are ye sure now it wasn't Kieff?" "Yes." She spoke with dreary conviction. "I am fairly sure Kieff's at the back of it, but--it was Guy who did it, thanks to my carelessness." "Yours!" Kelly's eyes bulged. "Ye don't mean that!" he said again. "Yes, it's true." Drearily she answered him. "Burke left the key of the strong-box in my keeping on the day of the sand-storm. I dropped it in the dark. I was hunting for it when you came. Then--I forgot it. Afterwards, you remember, Burke and Guy came in together. He must have found it--somehow--then." "He did!" said Kelly suddenly. "Faith, he did! Ye remember when he had that attack? He picked up something then--on the floor against his foot. I saw him do it, the fool that I am! He'd got it in his hand when we helped him up, and I never noticed,--never thought. The artful young devil!" A hint of admiration sounded in his voice. Kelly the simple-minded had ever been an admirer of art. Sylvia went on very wearily. "The box was kept in a cupboard in the room he was sleeping in. The rest was quite easy. He left the key behind him in the lock. I found it after you and Burke had gone to the Merstons'. I guessed what had happened of course. I went round to his hut, but it was all fastened up as usual. Then I went to Piet Vreiboom's." She shuddered suddenly. "I saw Kieff as well as Vreiboom. They seemed hugely amused at my appearance, and told me Guy was just ahead on the way to Brennerstadt. It was too late to ride the whole way, so I went to Ritzen, hoping to find him there. But I could get no news of him, so I came on by train in the morning. I ought to have got here long ago, but the engine broke down. We were held up for hours, and so I arrived--too late." The utter dreariness of her speech went straight to Kelly's heart. "Ah, there now--there now!" he said. "If I'd only known I'd have followed and helped ye that night." "You see, I didn't know you were coming back," she said. "And anyhow I couldn't have waited. I had to start at once. It was--my job." She smiled faintly, a smile that was sadder than tears. "And do ye know what happened?" said Kelly. "Did Burke tell ye what happened?" She shook her head. "No. He told me very little. I suppose he concluded that we had run away together."