"No, I don't think so; I don't know." She sat upright, passed her hand over her eyes. "What did he say?"
"He said the pearls had been found."
So the tiresome pearls had been found! It seemed to Stella that the news had barely reached her understanding before Robert was back. He crossed the room reflectively, with measured tread, the pearls gleaming white in his big hand; the contrast struck Philip as painfully symbolical: just as pure and as perfect was his dear love in the man's coarse keeping.
Crayfield paused, dandling the pearls. When he spoke he addressed himself to Flint in a voice that was devoid of all expression. He said: "My wife's necklace was found in your room."
For a moment Philip gazed at him dumbfounded. Then, as with the shock of a flashlight, he understood. Sher Singh! Sher Singh had either put the necklace in his room, or pretended to find it there, not with the object of fastening false suspicion of theft upon anyone, but in order to compromise the mistress he so hated. What a fool as well as a devil the fellow must be! How could he imagine that such an obvious piece of spite was likely to succeed? Yet, what was the meaning of Colonel Crayfield's curious attitude? Was it possible that he believed—— Swiftly Flint's mind pounced on the opportunity: he might refrain from defence, allow the "find" to speak for itself. But what about Stella? Would she realise the situation? Already she had risen, trembling and white with indignation.
"Robert! What do you mean? Surely you don't—you can't suggest that Mr. Flint took the pearls?"
Philip glanced at her hopelessly. Her simplicity was almost unbelievable; her innocence, all too obvious, had lost them their chance of freedom.
"Philip!" she cried involuntarily, and made a quick movement towards him. Crayfield moved also, just a couple of interceptory steps. He laughed, and put the pearls in his pocket.
"That's all I wanted to know," he said coolly, an ugly glint in his eyes. "Out you go, my boy! You didn't steal the pearls, of course; but you've been doing your damnedest to steal something else, and you haven't succeeded."
"You may think what you like!" interposed Philip hotly; but he felt he was blustering, that Colonel Crayfield, his senior in years and authority, had the whip hand of him, perceiving the truth. The trap had been cleverly laid.