The Closing Net. Henry Cottrell Rowland

home in any rich man's house."

      There was another laugh; Léontine gave me a look that set my heart to hammering.

      "How about tools?" asks Jeff.

      "I will stop at my hotel and run up and get what I need. I always carry them with me," said I.

      Well, it was a bit wild, but it was a wild crowd, and the idea hit them in the eye. There was a dash and go to it which struck their crooked natures in the right spot, so when Léontine jumped up and swore that she was going to have a hand in the game, nobody had a word of protest.

      "I've got a maillot upstairs," says she. "I had it made for a masquerade to which I went as a souris d'hôtel."

      "Where you stole the hearts of all the men," says Chu-Chu.

      ​"All right," said I. "Get your maillot, but be quick about it, for we haven't much time."

      Léontine spun about with her eyes flashing and her cheeks all aglow. "Here is a plan," says she. "What if I order the motor and we all go down together? The rest of you can wait near by while we go in and get the stuff. Then we will come back here and finish our supper-party."

      Everybody howled with delight. It was crazy, but crazy games made on the spur of the moment have always appealed to me, and besides, I felt a sort of national pride in showing those foreign crooks how we do things at home.

      It wasn't long before we heard the girls laughing in the antechamber and here was Léontine, standing in the doorway like some wonderful statue of a woman carved in coal. Her full-length black maillot began with a hood which covered all of her head but the face, encased her straight round neck, and swept in lovely curves right to the floor, clothing every inch of her but the white, gleaming face. She wore a little black silk mask, and her eyes blazed through the oval slits like two quivering jewels, while her red lips curled up in a sort of mocking smile.

      For a moment everybody was speechless, sheer dumb with the wonder of her. Then I heard Ivan gasp under his breath,

      "La femme du diable!"

      Body o' me! But she looked like the devil's wife. She wasn't divine by a long shot, and certainly she wasn't human! Just for a moment she stood there, enjoying the effect she made, then she picked up a ​long cloak with a hood and flung it over her shoulders.

      "The car is waiting," says she; "let us go." She turned to me. "Here is a mask I cut for you from some black stuff."

      We were all a little quiet as we got into the car, a big touring affair with a double row of seats. I told the chauffeur to go to my hotel, and presently we pulled up in front of the door. I ran up and filled the pockets of my overcoat with what I thought I might need, then ran down and out, wondering what the gold-laced concierge who opened the door of the car for me would think if he knew that the gay swell he was serving was a burglar on the way to a job!

      "What now?" asks Ivan, who was now driving the car.

      "Go to the house," said I, getting up beside him, "and stop directly in front of the door."

      "What do you propose to do?" says he, letting in the clutch.

      "You will see. I'm not quite sure myself. Wait until we get there," I answered.

      It was then about a quarter to three, and a little drizzle of rain was falling. We sped across the Place de la Concorde, all gleaming and glistening with the lamplight on the wet pavement, then across the river by the Pont Alexandre III, and around the Invalides. A minute later we pulled up in front of a high stone wall, over the top of which rose the branches of big trees, black and dripping with the rain. The street was deserted, so far as I could see, so I jumped out and crossed the sidewalk to a small ​iron door which was beside the big gates of the driveway. The little door looked pretty solid, and I was afraid of an alarm, so I stepped to the big gates and was up and over like a cat. A quick examination of the door showed me that there were no wires and that it was locked and bolted on the inside, so I slid the bolt, and in two minutes had picked the lock and swung back the door. Then I walked out to the car.

      "Come on," I said to Léontine. "The rest of you wait on the other side of the street. We won't be long."

      Léontine followed me through the door. For a minute I waited, looking up and down the street. There were one or two distant figures, but nobody near by.

      "Bravo, mon ami!" says the girl. "You lose no time."

      "There's none to lose," said I, and shut the door gently and slid one of the bolts. Then we stepped into the wet shrubbery, and a moment later the grey walls of the house rose through the foliage ahead. I chose one of the long French windows of the dining-room and examined the shutters. They were iron and bolted on the inside, but a little scientific work with the hack-saw and I had them open and stood listening carefully for any alarm. Then I cut an armhole in the window, and holding the glass carefully with the adhesive wax, removed it and reached in and turned the knob. A moment later we were in the house.

      "Here we are in the dining-room," I whispered to Léontine. "Now for the safe."

      ​We found it just where Ivan had said. It was a clumsy, old-fashioned box. Léontine held the light on it from my little pocket-lamp, and it needed only a few minutes work before I had it open. The gold and silver stuff was all there, every bit of it solid, and as soon as I had stowed it in the sack I forced the little drawers, and sure enough, here were the jewels—a splendid rope of pearls, a tiara of brilliants, and a lot of small pieces, rings, brooches, and the like. In no time we had the safe stripped of everything that we wanted.

      "Now let's go," I whispered. "We've licked the cream off this jug!"

      But the sight of the jewels had got Léontine excited.

      "There must be some more jewellery upstairs," says she. "Let's get all that there is."

      "No," said I. "It's not worth the risk. We are well paid for the job. Let's get away."

      "But I want the rest," she whispered. "And I want the fun of getting it. This has been too easy." She moved toward the door. "Come, let's go up."

      I slipped my arm around her waist and drew her back. "Don't be silly," said I. "That is the way people get in trouble. We've had our lark and made a good haul; don't spoil it all."

      I was drawing her gently back as I spoke. She yielded a little at first. Suddenly she turned, with a low, whispering laugh, threw both her arms around my neck, and drew my face to hers. I felt her rich lips against mine.

      "Now can I have my way, Frank?" says she, with a low, gurgling little laugh.

      ​I dropped the sack, and it fell with a clatter, but neither of us noticed it. With both arms clasping her tight I whispered,

      "Yes, for another kiss."

      She kissed me again, then again. "Now will you come with me to get the rings?" she panted.

      "Yes," said I, and loosed my hold of her.

      Picking up the sack, I carried it to the window and dropped it softly on the ground, outside. We passed out through the drawing-room and into the antechamber, then stopped at the foot of the stairs to listen. There was not a sound. Up the stairs we stole, stepping close to the wall to lessen the chance of creaking planks, but there was no danger, for the stairway was of heavy oak. On a landing we stopped again. It was silent as the grave, and about as dark, but for some reason I did not like it. A burglar gets to have instincts, like a wild animal or a cat or any other prowler, and several times mine have warned me of danger and saved my pelt before there was actually anything that came within the range of the ordinary senses. It's an uncanny feeling, and the only one that has ever made me nervous. Danger that you have positive evidence of ain't hard to face or get around, but danger that you feel in the air without being able actually to sense is mighty unsettling.

      I put out my hand behind me, and it fell on Léontine's shoulder, and rested there. For a full three minutes we stood like two statues. Then the clocks of St. Francis Xavier and the Invalides struck the half-hour, and I realised