"It's a lie!"
"Then how do you explain your possession of the will?"
"What is your supposition?" demanded Mrs. Beatson, more like a judge than a criminal.
"If you will have it," returned the barrister, smoothly. "I believe you murdered the vicar to get the will, and having found it, buried the same in that jungle. Then you made your terms with Mr. Mallien, and he agreed to give you an annuity of two hundred a year, if you passed the will along to him. When you thought that all was safe, you went to dig the will up again, and here it is."
Carrington pulled the soiled parchment from his pocket, where he had placed it for safety, doubled up into a packet, and shook it in her face. Mrs. Beatson changed from red to white, and from white to red, but maintained a scornful look. "You are talking nonsense," she said briefly.
"Perhaps," put in Hendle quietly, "and we wait for you to talk sense."
"I shall say nothing," said the woman, obstinately.
"In that case I shall send for Kensit and give you in charge."
"You would not do that, Mr. Hendle."
"Indeed, I shall do it within ten minutes if you do not speak out."