Meanwhile, Rupert and his friend sauntered leisurely homeward. It was so hot that they did not wear coats over their evening suit, and so dry underfoot that they walked to and from the cottage in shoes. The sky was radiant with innumerable stars, and although there was no moon, there was ample light in which to see surrounding objects. Through the shadowy world, warm and peaceful, the young men wandered, taking their way across the fields, as the high-road was so dusty and hard. For a time neither spoke, for each was busy with his own thoughts, which had to do with the case. Finally, Carrington broke the silence, and spoke soft, as though he feared listeners.
"I did not press my point, Hendle," he remarked significantly, "as the little I did say rather offended Miss Mallien."
"You were rather libellous about her father, you know, Carrington."
"If the saying, that the greater the truth the greater the libel is true, I certainly was," retorted the barrister, "for what I said I hold to."
"That Mrs. Beatson is the guilty person?"
"Yes. And that she is trading with Mallien to give him what he wants."
"The will?"
"Of course. I am as certain of that fact as I am that I live. She has the will, and she intends to deliver it to him--if she hasn't done so already--on condition that he gives her the two hundred a year annuity, which she told her son comes from a mythical aunt."
"Well," said Rupert, after a pause, "since Mallien was willing to come to terms with me, I see no reason why he should not come to terms with Mrs. Beatson, always provided that she is guilty."
"She is," insisted Carrington bluntly. "It is no use my giving you my reasons again, I think."