"You are a clever fool, Mrs. Beatson," he remarked quietly--"clever in getting the will and hiding it so skillfully; but a fool to examine so compromising a document here, when the village policeman may pass at any moment."
The word "policeman" galvanized Mrs. Beatson into life and action. With a final gasp she suddenly became, as it seemed, conscious of her peril, and bolted. Down the road and across the road she sped, and was in the spinney before the two men could grasp the situation. For a single moment they stared after the flying figure, then simultaneously started in pursuit. With terror-winged feet the housekeeper fled as swiftly as the wind, and it was not until the brick wall, encircling the park, again loomed through the shadows that they caught up to her. Instinctively, like a homing pigeon, she made for the only place where she thought she would be safe. Much, as Carrington grimly thought, after the fashion of a child, who believes himself to be free from danger when smuggled between the blankets. It was while she was fumbling with the lock of the postern that he laid a detaining hand on her shoulder. With a terrified cry she dropped on her knees.
"Mercy! Mercy! I am innocent--innocent," she wailed, and hugged his legs in a frenzy of fear.
"Here, get up!" said the barrister, roughly pulling her to her feet. "Come inside and explain yourself."
"There's nothing to explain," cried Mrs. Beatson, suddenly defiant; "and you are not my master."
"I am more than your master; I am the man who has found you out," stated Carrington, in a hard tone, and pushing open the postern. "Walk in, I tell you."
"Gently, Carrington, gently," said Rupert, sorry for the shaking woman, who was desperate enough to say anything or do anything. "We can deal with this matter reasonably. Take my arm, Mrs. Beatson, and come to the house. You can no doubt give us an explanation."
"I shan't give it to him," muttered the housekeeper, trying to control her shattering emotions. "What has he got to do with me, I should like to know? You are always a gentleman, Mr. Hendle, and I wish you a better friend. Spying and prying, watching and following. Call yourself a man, do you? Ha! Ha! call yourself a man? God help the woman who marries you, say I."
Neither of the two made any reply to this aimless speech, and babbling incoherently, Mrs. Beatson was led by Hendle to the house. Fortunately none of the servants were in the entrance-hall, and when Rupert opened the door with his latch-key, Mrs. Beatson swept in toward the drawing-room, which was lighted up. Carrington and his friend followed close behind, to find her seated in an armchair, fanning her heated face with the hood which she had removed. Her color had returned and her self-possession, so that she eyed the pair defiantly. Her attentions were mostly directed toward Carrington, and if a look could have slain him, he would have dropped dead there and then.
"Come now," said the barrister, when the door was closed and the trio were alone, "what have you got to say to all this?"