hiss. He realized his position almost at once. He was trapped.
He walked up to Wrayson's side. His voice shook, but he was in deadly earnest.
"Look here," he said, "the contents of that packet, whatever they may be, are mine—mine and hers! You have nothing to do with the matter at all. I will not have you in the room when they are opened."
Wrayson shrugged his shoulders.
"The packet will be opened here," he said, "and I shall certainly be present."
Barnes ground his teeth.
"If you touch one of those papers or letters or whatever they may be, you shall be prosecuted for theft," he declared. "I swear it!"
Wrayson smiled.
"I will run the risk," he declared. "Ah! Baroness, this is kind of you," he added, throwing open the door and ushering her in. "There is a young friend of yours here who is dying to renew his acquaintance with you."
She smiled delightfully at Sydney Barnes, and threw back her cloak. She had just come in from the opera, and diamonds were flashing from her neck and bosom. Her gown was exquisite, the touch of her fingers an enchantment. It was impossible for him to resist the spell of her presence.
"You have been very unkind," she declared. "You have not been to see me for a very long time. I do not think that I shall forgive you. What do you say, Mr. Wrayson? Do you think that he deserves it?"
Wrayson smiled as he threw open the door once more. He felt that the next few minutes might prove interesting.
