Rowe, evidently not too pleased, started off to do as he was asked.
The moment he was out of sight, Featherson's face changed its expression. "Here, d'Escombe, quick!" he said, speaking in a half whisper. "If you love Ella—and I believe you do—help me now. That man's a detective, one of the shrewdest. The jewels are in a wooden ventilator, in the corridor by my bedroom. Now listen."
I was so thunderstruck by his words, that I could not speak.
"When Rowe comes back I shall ask him to help me in, and I shall send you for some brandy. Go quickly to our rooms, and, if they have been searched, then take the stuff out of the ventilator, give them to Ella, and tell her to hide them in her room for a short time."
I gasped. By Jove, I was new to crime in those days, and the calm way in which this immaculate gentleman owned up to being a common thief was too much for me.
"Hurry man," he added, "or it's all up. This infernal accident prevents me doing anything for myself—or are you going to denounce me?"
A moment only was allowed me to decide
