Once he did so the rest would be easy, as he knew
exactly where to lay his hand on the picture. Therefore he could have no
better time than the dead of night. If his presence were betrayed he
could turn the matter aside as a joke and trust to his native wit later
on. If he had obtained the picture by stealth he would have discreetly
disappeared, covering his tracks as he retreated.
Still, it had all fallen out very fortunately. Henson had been made to
look ridiculous; he had been forced to admit that he was giving Littimer
a lesson over the Rembrandt, and though the thing appeared innocent
enough on the surface, Chris was sanguine that later on she could bring
this up in evidence against him.
"So far so good," she told herself. "Watch, watch, watch, and act when
the time comes. But it was hard to meet Frank to-night and be able to say
nothing. And how abjectly miserable he looked! Well, let us hope that the
good time is coming."
Chris was up betimes in the morning and out on the terrace. She felt no
further uneasiness on the score of the disguise now. Henson was certain
to be inquisitive, it was part of his nature, but he was not going to
learn anything.
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