Dinner at the Palace was never a very ceremonious or solemn function. The Bishop was too genial, too noisy and too talkative for that. He was usually full of his day's doings, and overflowing with ideas and theories which became actual and possible as he put them into speech; for he was a born talker, and the mere expression of words enabled him to set the most nebulous thought into concrete and practical form. He had a way of saying things in public which occasionally brought him into trouble during the early days of his career at the Palace; but experience had taught him the wisdom of discretion. Whenever a grievance pressed hard now he reserved its discussion until he was at dinner with his wife, when he unburdened his soul in forcible language. How the newspapers would have gloried in the very human remarks of the Bishop if they could have reported them! Lady Hester's impassionate judgment was, as it had always been, of immense service to him. She never attempted to stop the outpourings of his indignation, for he was stubborn beyond belief, when thwarted or heckled, but gently put forward the case for the other side, and counselled reserve and discretion, since power was always his when he wished to enforce it.

Whether other people were present or not mattered little to the Bishop when he wanted to express his views, or was particularly interested in his subject. Everybody had to listen, and they did not mind this, as he was a very good talker; but to-night he was not in vein, and he looked tired. Caroline's grim, kill-joy attitude of watchful resentment annoyed him. She spoke only when addressed, and then in monosyllables, and her steady observation of Mr. Bannister was absolutely ill-bred, for she watched him as a detective might watch a marked criminal.

Depression had fallen on Mabel, too--depression that she could neither fight nor disguise. During the early part of the meal she kept her eyes fixed upon her plate, scarcely daring to raise them to her mother's face, in fear that they would reveal to all present the truth, the truth that would bring ruin upon Jack's father and her mother. Her distress was so evident to Lady Hester that it made her nervous; she was even clumsy, and twice during the meal overturned her wine glass, and, to cover her confusion, blamed the servant at her elbow in an angry voice; a proceeding so altogether unlike her that everybody stared in amazement, and silence fell like a pall on the guests, who were vaguely conscious that there were under currents at work in the family circle.

Lady Hester was quick to note the chilling silence, and she began to talk rapidly, addressing remarks to Aunt Caroline upon domestic affairs that could not be of any interest to her guests, and only embarrassed the old lady, who had never been allowed any real voice in home affairs by her sister-in-law.

Bannister was apparently amused by the discomfort of everybody; at any rate, he was quite unabashed. He bowed his head when his host said grace and smiled covertly. He alone was in good form, and, seeing how powerless Lady Hester was to entertain her party, he came to her aid; not out of good nature, but from sheer vanity. He told some good stories, but nobody laughed. He had already exhausted his stock of yarns suitable for a clerical gathering, so he ventured upon an amazing set of anecdotes of actors; and these quickly secured him the attention of the table.

As he talked, his eyes roved continually, their restlessness only checked for a moment when they fell upon Lady Hester. He had seen Aunt Caroline flash a glance of astonishment at Lady Hester's necklace; astonishment that quickly gave place to indignation. It was evident that Caroline was annoyed at the display. But the annoyance was in reality caused by Lady Hester taking this opportunity to load herself with the family jewels--which really belonged more to Caroline than Lady Hester--for the express purpose of attracting the attention of the odious Bannister.

Aunt Caroline watched him like a lynx as she saw his eyes go again and again to the jewels. It was evident that they excited him. He knew their value, and his eyes glittered his appreciation, while his mind wandered to them in the middle of a story. In the pauses he found himself counting the number of the large stones in the pendant, each of which was worth quite three hundred pounds. In counting the stones of the necklace from left to right he had reached the total of four thousand pounds for the big stones alone. Then he remembered that the necklace was only part of a complete set. If all the others were of this size and quality, the papers were not far wrong in estimating their original value at twenty thousand pounds--now much increased by the rise in market price. He longed to handle the necklace, to take it to the light. Any idea he might have had for relinquishing his pursuit of the emeralds died on the instant that he saw them. He was a gambler by instinct, and to miss such a stroke of luck as this was outside the range of his understanding. Besides, money was, after all, more important than anything else in the world, the one real and safe thing. Never before had he happened upon so rich a gold mine, or one so easy to work.

During his brief stay at the Palace he had almost persuaded himself that he had done with the old life; and now he knew that he was being drawn back to it; that he would be powerless to resist; but he would work upon a different plan.

The woman was his anyway. The jewels would have to be given up as the price of silence. It was not a case of stealing. Voss's vulgar but useful methods would not apply here, and his assistance would not be needed. Nothing could be easier than the transfer. With her own fair hands she must bribe him to silence.

While the comedy of bluff and counter-bluff was being carried on below, Voss upstairs was not idle. His narrow escape from Lady Hester left him in reality quite undismayed. It sent a cold chill down his back for a few moments, but quiet consideration assured him that her ladyship could have no suspicion of his real object in visiting her dressing room, and, at worst, would assume that he was in quest of one of the maids.

He had seen the emeralds on her neck when she spoke to him, and his heart gave a great leap of triumph. They were in the house, after all. Then he thirsted for more knowledge. He actually looked into their hiding place. He had seen the big leather case on the top shelf.

It afforded him infinite satisfaction to know that they were "available." Like his master, he was cautious, and he had learned many lessons from his chief. There were two ways of getting the plunder. Number one was to seize it for himself when the opportunity occurred, and fly, with all England at his heels--his master included. Number two, to steal artistically with his master's aid, to remain in the house, and be the first to see a disappearing burglar go through a window.

In spite of his master's instruction to the contrary, he had arranged everything in his own mind: how the jewels were to be stolen, how the alarm was to be given, how the windows were to be marked, where the convenient rope was to be dropped down, and the number of cuts to be made on the window sash. He had in his bag a coil of wire for stretching across the garden path after dark, to give the impression that a gang had been at work taking precautions against chase by wiring the paths to trip-up pursuers. This "wheeze" had answered before, long, long ago, when money had been tight with Bannister and desperate means were necessary to repair failing fortunes. It was the riskiest, and at the same time the most profitable, business they had pulled off together, and Voss could never understand why his master had always refused to descend again to such low methods.

Here was a house full of "mugs"--from Voss's point of view--soft, soapy, old-fashioned servants who met every day for prayers, and wept if they could not go to church three times on Sunday. Harriet had already tried to convert him with a tract when he hinted at marriage. Everybody in the house was trusted. Silver plate was lying about day and night. Forks and spoons were never counted, and the wine cellar was never locked. It was the softest crib he had ever struck, and yet his master preferred to philander with the Bishop's lady, who, from all accounts, was circumspect and discreet beyond suspicion, idolized by the servants, and incapable of a mean, ungenerous act.

How did Bannister think he was going to extract a fortune from her under such circumstances? Yet her ladyship was wearing the emeralds to-night. Perhaps that meant something.

His curiosity was roused to the highest pitch. Some chance remark of Bannister's had set him wondering whether the senior partner intended to work this business "on his own," and leave his humble servant in the lurch. Bannister had talked occasionally of late of their coming separation, and of retirement from business, which Voss looked upon as all "guff." It hurt his feelings, and suggested a waning affection between master and man.

Two could play at that game. Voss allowed himself occasional consideration of method number one, which was to carry off the jewels hare and hounds fashion. There were many difficulties in the way, yet he considered the matter carefully and from various points of view, as only natural in a conscientious, thorough-going rascal. Expediency was his only guide in things mundane, but the bolting method did not seem expedient just now, although Lady Hester was so careless as to leave her safe door ajar while the family were at dinner. Ten to one she would never miss the jewels till a week after if they were cleverly abstracted from the safe in the daytime.

He glowed all over at the prospect of a magnificent run for his money, but shuddered when he thought of Bannister's rage at being cheated, and he paused to consider the possible revenge he was certain to take. The cleverer villain had during the passing of years hypnotized him into obedience until it seemed impossible to work without the master mind.

These thoughts of treachery were only dreams--but what pleasant ones to Voss. He had the whole of the upper corridor to himself, and could not resist the temptation to go back to the region of that fascinating safe. He went to the head of the stairs and looked down. They were just taking coffee into the dining room, and he was not likely to be disturbed; so he turned the handle of the dressing room door, and found it answered to his touch.

What carelessness! What simplicity! What trust!

He popped out again into the gallery overlooking the hall and reconnoitred once more. All serene!

Now right into the room, and to the door of the safe this time. It was locked. Lady Hester had come up specially to lock it, when she found him emerging from the room. That looked awkward. He hoped that the safe had nothing whatever to do with her reappearance upstairs.

It dashed his spirits considerably. To come under the shadow of suspicion, ever so lightly, now, was to make himself a marked man when that sham burglary took place. In this humiliating moment he was compelled reluctantly to admit the superiority of his master's mind and methods. He, poor fellow, was but a bungler after all. His imaginary trip to Amsterdam with wealth ever afterwards and freedom from the dominion of the masterful Bannister faded into the land of dissipated dreams.

He slid out of the room as noiselessly as he had entered it--but started back and gasped when he found himself face to face with Mabel. She must have flitted upstairs like a shadow the moment he entered the dressing room.

Her face was white as death; her eyes blazed with a light that reminded him of his master in certain moments of anger, and her lips were drawn tight in a hard straight line. He cringed under her gaze, and with wonderful resource went back into the dressing room and looked round for a moment to left and right, as if seeking some one.

"No, she's not here, miss. I thought I should find her ladyship's maid here. The door was left open, and I know her ladyship doesn't like the door standing open on the corridor, I heard her say so. I was just going to shut it when--when I thought the maid might be inside."

Mabel made no answer. She pointed a trembling finger in the direction of her father's room, and stood quivering with passion.

Voss bowed and retreated, appearing not to notice. There was nothing else to be done. He threw his head back and walked away in the most unconcerned fashion. Half way down the corridor he stopped, looked at the ground, saw an imaginary pin, picked it up and put it in his waistcoat with studied inconsequence. That dodge of picking up a pin had served him well for twenty years, and it never failed in its apparent effect.

He entered his master's room. Mabel followed him. As soon as the door closed she opened it again, put her hand inside, and took the key out of the door. Then she--locked him in, and withdrew the key.

Voss positively gasped with astonishment. He dropped into an arm-chair, and went green in his pallor. Gradually he recovered and laughed at his own consternation. It was only his master's daughter who suspected him; 'twas easy to silence her.

When the girl had made her escape from down stairs, Bannister followed close upon her heels; having made a plausible excuse, for he was growing increasingly suspicious of her. He had been watching her stealthily all day, and her movements were peculiarly erratic.

He arrived in the corridor just as she was coming away from locking Voss in. They met under a lamp which showed a white glare on both their faces. The girl's was transformed. Hatred and contempt blazed from her eyes, and the man quailed for a moment before speaking.

"What is it? What's the matter? What have you been doing?"

"I have locked the other thief in your room. There is the key," she whispered huskily, and he felt something cold thrust into his hand.

She swept past him and down the stairs without another word. It took him a full minute to grasp the significance of it all. He applied the key to his door and Voss jumped up to attention.

"What's this--locked in?"

Voss laughed the uneasy chuckle of an irritated man.

"It's your blooming daughter. Told you you'd have trouble with her. She's been nosing after me ever since we've been here. Caught me in her ladyship's dressing room, followed me here, and turned the key on me. P'raps you'll tell me whether it was your orders or not, 'cause I ain't going to be treated like a kid."

"You fool!" cried Bannister, striding across towards him, and clenching his fist as though about to strike. "She has found us out. By heaven, I'd like to throttle you, you blundering idiot!"

Bannister was more upset than he cared to admit. That look in his daughter's eyes had sent him cold from head to foot. The word "thief" on her lips sounded horrible.

For the first time in their long partnership anger got the better of him against Voss. He lost all control of himself.

"You----"

His language was not choice. He rushed at the offender and kicked him. The kicks were only two in number, administered with a soft, patent shoe, and did not hurt at all; but Voss went to the ground sprawling. He was too staggered at the moment to feel anything but utter consternation and grief--grief that his immaculate, imperturbable master should fall so low as to be human and violent.

As he lay on the floor he felt that the world was a very hollow place. Bannister was only a man--not a god of deviltry--just a foolish, unreasoning man. The idol was shattered. In that moment of anger, and with the toe of his patent shoe, he had toppled over "Dick Gordon" and Richard Bannister--not Voss. The infallible, imperturbable mastermind hypnotized the rascal no longer.