Mary was silent. Her own sense of justice showed her that Field was right. But nothing would induce her to go away, so long as there was anything like hope remaining. She might get a chance still to whisper one word of warning. And if it came she would not hesitate. She had not been placed on her parole so far.
She turned away to wipe her shining eyes, and as she did so the door opened and Berrington crept out. His face was full of excitement, his lips were white.
"Glad to find you here," he said. "I was going to try and find a messenger. I could not leave the house for very long, considering that——"
He paused significantly, with his eyes on Mary. Evidently Berrington had made some great and startling discovery, or he would not have been so dreadfully agitated. Even in the moment of her awful sorrow, Mary could find time to speak and think of others.
"I am in a great measure responsible for this," she said. "Philip, Beatrice Richford is in the house; she has a valuable parcel of diamonds in her pocket; those thieves there know it. Go to her assistance at once; see that she is safe from harm. If anything happens to her I shall never forgive myself. Why don't you go at once?"
"I am sorry," Berrington stammered. He seemed quite dazed and confused. "I have no doubt that Mrs. Richford will be perfectly safe, seeing that assistance is at hand. Indeed, I let her know that I was in the
house so that she should not be unduly frightened. But there are other matters of far greater importance than that. Sir Charles Darryll——"
"I thought we should come to Sir Charles Darryll," Field cut in swiftly. "But we need not discuss that matter here and now. Do you want me?"
Field asked the question with a strange ring in his voice. Berrington wondered—he was rapidly regaining complete possession of himself. He moved towards the house.
"In a few minutes," he said. "Wait till I give you the signal. Thank goodness, you were so close by."