"You have," Miss Harding assented. "And may I ask why you want this bracelet?"
"I should answer that it was no concern of yours."
"You said borrow it, I believe?"
"Either I will borrow it or take it."
"Is there any certainty that it will ever be returned? And if so, when?"
"You will have to take my word for that, of course," replied the masked girl. "I shall return it within a few days."
Miss Harding glanced at her jewel box. "Have you looked there?" she inquired.
"Yes," replied the masked girl. "It isn't there."
"Not there?" repeated Miss Harding.
"If it had been there I should have taken it and gone away without disturbing you," the masked girl went on. "Its absence is what caused me to wake you."
"Not there!" said Miss Harding again wonderingly, and she moved as if to get up.
"Don't do that, please!" warned the masked girl quickly. "I shall hand you the box if you like."
She arose and passed the casket to Miss Harding, who spilled out the contents in her lap.
"Why, it is gone!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, from there," said the other a little grimly. "Now please tell me immediately where it is. It will save trouble."
"I don't know," replied Miss Harding hopelessly.
The masked girl stared at her coldly for a moment, then drew back the hammer of the revolver until it clicked.
Miss Harding stared in sudden terror.
"All this is merely time wasted," said the masked girl sternly, coldly. "Either the bracelet or this!" Again she tapped the revolver.
"If it is not here, I don't know where it is," Miss Harding rushed on desperately. "I placed it here at ten o'clock to-night-here in this box-when I undressed. I don't know-I can't imagine--"
The masked girl tapped the revolver again several times with one gloved finger. "The bracelet!" she demanded impatiently.
Fear was in Miss Harding's eyes now, and she made a helpless, pleading gesture with both white hands. "You wouldn't kill me-murder me!" she gasped. "I don't know. I-Here, take the other jewels. I can't tell you."
"The other jewels are of absolutely no use to me," said the girl coldly. "I want only the bracelet."
"On my honor," faltered Miss Harding, "I don't know where it is. I can't imagine what has happened to it. I-I--" she stopped helplessly.
The masked girl raised the weapon threateningly, and Miss Harding stared in cringing horror.
"Please, please, I don't know!" she pleaded hysterically.
For a little while the masked girl was thoughtfully silent. One shoe tapped the floor rhythmically; the eyes were contracted. "I believe you," she said slowly at last. She arose suddenly and drew her coat closely about her. "Good night," she added as she started toward the door. There she turned back. "It would not be wise for you to give an alarm for at least half an hour. Then you had better have some one latch the window in the drawing room. I shall leave it unfastened. Good night."
And she was gone.
Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, had just finished relating the story to The Thinking Machine, incident by incident, as it had been reported to Chief of Detectives Mallory, when the eminent scientist's aged servant, Martha, tapped on the door of the reception room and entered with a card.
"A lady to see you, sir," she announced.
The scientist extended one slender white hand, took the card, and glanced at it.
"Your story is merely what Miss Harding told the police?" he inquired of the reporter. "You didn't get it from Miss Harding herself?"
"No, I didn't see her."
"Show the lady in, Martha," directed The Thinking Machine. She turned and went out, and he passed the card to the reporter.
"By George! it's Miss Harding herself!" Hatch exclaimed. "Now we can get it all straight."
There was a little pause, and Martha ushered a young woman into the room. She was girlish, slender, daintily yet immaculately attired, with deep brown eyes, firmly molded chin and mouth, and wavy hair. Hatch's expression of curiosity gave way to one of frank admiration as he regarded her. There was only the most impersonal sort of interest in the watery blue eyes of The Thinking Machine. She stood for a moment with gaze alternating between the distinguished man of science and the reporter.
"I am Mr. Van Dusen," explained The Thinking Machine. "Allow me, Miss Harding-Mr. Hatch."
The girl smiled and offered a gloved hand cordially to each of the two men. The Thinking Machine merely touched it respectfully; Hatch shook it warmly. The eyes were veiled demurely for an instant, then the lids were lifted suddenly, and she favored the newspaper man with a gaze that sent the blood to his cheeks.
"Be seated, Miss Harding," the scientist invited.
"I hardly know just what I came to say, and just how to say it," she began uncertainly, and smiled a little. "And anyway I had hoped that you were alone; so--"
"You may speak with perfect freedom before Mr. Hatch," interrupted The Thinking Machine. "Perhaps I shall be able to aid you; but first will you repeat the history of the bracelet as nearly as you can in the words of the masked woman who called upon you so-so unconventionally."
The girl's brows were lifted inquiringly, with a sort of start.
"We were discussing the case when your card was brought in," continued The Thinking Machine tersely. "We shall continue from that point, if you will be so good."
The young woman recited the history of the bracelet, slowly and carefully.
"And that statement of the case is correct?" queried the scientist.
"Absolutely, so far as I know," was the reply.
"And as I understand it, you were in the house alone; that is, alone except for the servants?"
"Yes; I live there alone, except for a companion and two servants. The servants were not within the sound of my voice, even if I had screamed, and Miss Talbott, my companion, it happened, was out for the night."
The Thinking Machine had dropped back into his chair, with squint eyes turned upward, and long white fingers pressed tip to tip. He sat thus silently for a long time. The girl at last broke the silence.