And quickly possessing himself of the parcel, he held it for inspection. A spasm crossed Benzon's sinister face, and there escaped him the involuntary cry:
"But you looked at the things, Cora, and pronounced them correct. You said we were only coming here for the heirlooms in the safe; yet you must have known."
"Quite so," the General proceeded, disregarding a smothered remark from the female culprit. "She knew that she had been hoodwinked, because she recognized my nephew under his disguise, and so at once examined the parcel. Thereupon she deceived you and her other associates for a private reason that had nothing to do with the interests of your precious combination. Like to hear what that reason was?"
Benzon flung a reproachful, half-imploring look at his strangely garbed chief, as though seeking for a denial from her, but failing to catch her downcast eye, he gave a sullen assent to the question.
"Very well," the General went on, inexorably. "She withheld her confidence from her colleagues because she desired to save the life of Mr. Forsyth from the murderous vengeance of you gentlemen who are so handy with charcoal braziers and railway accidents. So she made a last desperate effort to obtain the bonds by persuading you to break into the safe under a false pretext—used you as tools, do you understand?—to repair her own breach of faith to you without having to confess it. Her idea was doomed to failure, anyway, for, apart from his Grace's vigilance, she was effectually watched by Miss Hanbury from the moment of her readmission into the house by that Frenchwoman. When 'Mrs. Talmage Eglinton',"—with a fine scorn on the name—"crept out dressed like that, we wanted to see whether she would go straight to her room when she came back, don't you know."
He paused, but not with an air of finality. No one had ever suspected Jem Sadgrove in the old days of an eye for dramatic effect. He must have been coached by somebody into leading up to the question now to be put with fierce insistence by the saturnine Benzon, and, to judge by the eager interest in Sybil's dilated eyes, that young lady had been the coach.
"Why should Cora Lestrade want to spare Mr. Forsyth?" asked the man, taking a step forward, to be instantly reminded of his position by the lean brown hand of Azimoolah falling like a vise on his shoulder. The Pathan evidently cherished a lingering hope that there might yet arise a pretext for treating "the black tribe" in the old way.
"Because, sir, a woman can't help herself in matters of the heart, and even the worst of 'em is capable of an unselfish attachment," the General replied, with slow emphasis. But he hastened to add, as if eager to disavow responsibility for the introduction of sentiment: "At least, so I was advised. The little scheme for obtaining the sham securities was based on the supposition that this woman had a liking for Mr. Forsyth, and would do him no hurt if she recognized him. That forecast has turned out to be well founded."
"Uncle Jem!" Forsyth protested, flushing hotly.
"Yes, laddie, I know you would not have taken the job on if I had informed you who Ziegler was," said the General. "There would have been less to fear, but there would have been a dash of the underhand about it that wouldn't have suited you. But I should never have allowed you to walk into such a death-trap as that crypt would have been without the safeguard we—that is, I—trusted to. It wasn't a case for being too nice. There's no such thing as taking a mean advantage of people threatening life and property, they told me when I was taught my trade."