He opened and emptied the table drawers, as if a hurried search had been made.  Slipping the compromising jewels into his overcoat pocket, he turned about and faced the room like a stage manager judging of a play’s setting.  The luxurious furnishings, the long mahogany table warmly reflecting the lights of the heavily shaded lamp; the wide, gaping fireplace; the lurking shadows of the corners; the curtain by the opened window bellying slightly in the draught; above, in the soft radiance of the hooded electrics, the glowing, living, radiant personality of the Vandyke; below, the stark, evil face of the dead, with its blue bruised temple and blood-clotted hair.

Gard strove to reconstruct the crime as the next entrant would judge it—­the thief gliding in by the window; the collector busy over the examination of his curios; the blow, probably only intended to stun; the hasty theft and stealthy exit.

His heart pounded in his breast, but it was with outward calm that he crossed the threshold, calling back a “Good-night,” whose grim irony was not lost upon him.  In the hall, as he put on his hat, he addressed the servant casually: 

“Mr. Mahr says you may lock up and go.  He does not want to be disturbed, as he has some papers that will keep him late.  Remind Mr. Mahr to call me at the New Willard in the morning; I may have some news.”

As he left the house he staggered; he felt his knees shaking.  With a superhuman effort he steadied himself—­Denning must not suspect anything unusual.  He descended the steps with a firm tread, and pausing at the last step, twisted as if to reach an uncomfortably settled coat collar—­his quick glance taking in the contour of the house and the probability of access by the window.  The glimpse was reassuring.  By means of the iron railing a man might readily gain the ledge below the first floor windows.  He entered the limousine and nodded to Denning.

“All right,” he said.  “On to Washington.”

* * * * *

XI

Through the long, hours of the night Gard lay awake, living over the gruesome moments spent in the ill-omened house on Washington Square.  The ghastly face of the dead man seemed to stare at him from every corner of the luxurious room.

Had he done wisely, Gard wondered, in setting the scene of robbery?  Had he done it convincingly?  That he could become involved in the case in another character than that of witness, occurred to him, but he dismissed it with a shrug.  He was able, he felt, to cope with any situation.  Nevertheless, the valuables he had taken from the corpse seemed to take on bulk.  He thanked his stars that his valet was not with him—­at least he would not have to consider the ever present danger of discovery.  He had hoped to dispose of the compromising articles while crossing the ferry, but when, on his suggestion of the benefits of cool night air, he had descended