"That the pearls are gone? How can he?" Beverley cried.
"I don't know, I only feel," the little woman repeated.
As the two had talked, Clo watched Miss Blackburne's face. It was with her as the pearl-stringer had said of herself: she "did not know—she could only feel" that the good little woman had something on her conscience, something that she was obliged to hide.
Clo had by this time succeeded in clearing her mind from cobwebs.
Suddenly a light shone like flame upon the mystery. "Peterson!" was the name that printed itself upon the girl's brain. "If he could have got into the flat, he could have stolen both the pearls and papers. Does Miss Blackburne know something, and if she does, why won't she tell?"
It occurred to Clo that, if she could have a few words with Miss Blackburne alone, perhaps the puzzle might be solved.
"Angel," she said, "if there's been a thief in this house, perhaps he's here still. With two manservants, you ought——"
Beverley waited for no more. Any straw was worth catching at. She couldn't wait to ring for Johnson. She rushed out of the boudoir, hoping to find the butler in the dining room. He was there. And while she explained that something had been stolen, that the flat must be searched, Clo got the chance she had wanted.
"Miss Blackburne, you're my friend!" she exclaimed. "This means life or death to me. I'm responsible for that envelope we've lost. Do, for the love of heaven, tell me what happened in this room while Mrs. Sands went out and left you here alone."
The pearl-stringer remained silent. She met Clo's great, imploring eyes without shrinking, but the girl saw that she breathed hard.