"If things are as you say I don't see how Mrs. Beatson's part of the business can be concealed. The will is of no use to Mallien unless he makes it public. And if he does, he will have to explain how he became possessed of it. I suppose his confession of the deal with Mrs. Beatson would bring him into trouble as an accessory-after-the-fact?"
"It would, and I am wondering how Mallien intends to make himself safe on that score. There is only one thing to be done, Hendle. We must wait until Mallien produces the will. Then we can move."
"It's an infernal messy business altogether," growled the big man, restlessly; "and I wish we were all well out of it. I don't want Mallien to get into any trouble for Dorinda's sake."
"I think you can be pretty certain that Mallien will look after his own precious skin," said the barrister dryly; "and if--hush!--not a word." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Who's that?"
"What?" Rupert looked round, as Carrington caught his arm, and pulled him off the footpath into a clump of hazels.
"Don't speak," whispered Carrington with his mouth close to Rupert's ear; "and button your coat as well as you can over your shirt-front. The white may betray us." He acted on his own advice, and kept Hendle well behind the shelter of the leafy trees. "Now watch."
Hendle did so with all his eyes, straining his sight through the shadowy night, and by this time had seen the reason of Carrington's action and caution. The two men had reached the red brick wall which ran round the park, and saw that the postern gate through which they intended to pass was open. A tall dark figure in flowing robes was slipping out, and when Carrington pulled his friend into shelter behind the hazels, the woman--for such it was--closed the postern stealthily. After a glance to right and left, she walked swiftly along the footpath, going in the direction whence the watchers had come. As she swept past the hazel clump, Rupert nearly uttered an exclamation, for, in spite of the black-silk hood pulled well over her head and face, he was absolutely certain that this night walker was none other than his respectable housekeeper. What she was doing outside the house at this time of night and whither she was going he could not conjecture. But Carrington could, and when the woman passed away into the shadows, he whispered an exultant explanation.
"It's Mrs. Beatson, Hendle. She's going to look for the will. Quick! let us follow; but take care she doesn't see us."
"The will!" breathed Rupert, cautiously, as they stole out on the trail. "What do you mean?"
"She has hidden the will somewhere, I am sure, and now is going to get it. We will catch her red-handed if we are careful. What luck!"