He, too, like many
others in the room, felt a sudden thrill almost of horror at the sound
which rang without warning upon their ears--a woman's cry, a cry of fear
and horror, repeated again and again. There was a little rush towards the
curtained space which led into the conservatories. Before even, however,
the quickest could reach the spot, the curtains were thrown back and Mrs.
Rheinholdt, her hands clasping her neck, her splendid composure a thing of
the past, a panic-stricken, terrified woman, stumbled into the room. She
seemed on the point of collapse. Somehow or other, they got her into an
easy-chair.
"My jewels!" she cried. "My diamonds!"
"What do you mean, mother?" Philip Rheinholdt asked quickly. "Have you
lost them?"
"Stolen!" Mrs. Rheinholdt shrieked. "Stolen there in the conservatory!"
They gazed at her open-mouthed, incredulous. Then a still, quiet voice
from the outside of the little circle intervened.
"Instruct your servants, Mr. Rheinholdt, to lock and bar all the doors of
the house," the Professor suggested. "No one must leave it until we have
heard your mother's story."
The young man obeyed almost mechanically. There was a general exodus of
servants from the room. Some one had brought Mrs. Rheinholdt a glass of
champagne. She sipped it and gradually recovered her voice.
"I had just taken the Professor into the little room my husband used to
call the museum," she explained, her voice still shaking with agitation.
"I left him there to examine some specimens of beetles.
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