Heyton stole across the room, in his felt slippers, and looked down at the sleeping man for a moment; then his furtive, bloodshot eyes went towards the small table beside the bed.
There was a carafe of water and a glass, the Marquess's ring and his watch and chain on the table.

The chain was an old-fashioned affair, with an extra ring, and on this ring were two keys, the key of the safe and a smaller one.

Heyton knew that it was the key to the jewel-case.
His hand shook so much that, for a moment or two, he was afraid to touch the chain, lest it should jingle and wake the Marquess; with an effort, Heyton controlled the shaking hand, and, after some fumbling, took the keys from the ring; as he did so, his eyes wandered apprehensively from the things he was purloining to the face on the pillow; but in reality his movements had been noiseless, and the Marquess had not awakened.
With the keys in his hand, Heyton stole into the dressing-room adjoining, and closing the door softly, turned up the electric light.

At sight of the safe, his courage rose, his nerves grew more steady; he had been careful to drink very little that night, and his brain was clear.
He unlocked the safe and looked inside it.

There were bundles of papers tied with tape and, at the back of them, a box covered with morocco leather.