"A friend," replied Idris: and seeing that he was discovered he lifted the curtain and entered the recess. "Let us have the name, and then——"
"It was honourable of you to play the spy!" said Lorelie, coldly: and Idris could not help feeling that he deserved the reproach.
"Miss Ravengar," he said, stepping up to Beatrice and taking both her hands in his own: "tell me whose face you see peering into the tomb."
"A face peering into the tomb? I—I don't understand."
Beatrice's voice had assumed its sweet natural ring. From her low seat she looked up at Idris with the light of gladness in her eyes at seeing him, a colour on her cheek at finding her hands clasped in his.
For a moment he eyed her keenly, thinking that in order to shield the guilty person she was going to deny the recognition. Then the truth flashed upon him. She had emerged from her hypnotic trance. On detecting his presence the viscountess by some quick sleight of hand must have restored her to her normal state of mind.
Beatrice's wondering eyes showed that she was entirely ignorant of the story that had flowed from her lips.
That story had accomplished one good end. She had spoken of the assassin as a man, and a weight was lifted from Idris' mind. Thank heaven, Lorelie was not the author of the deed! But a troubling thought remained. Was she a friend of the assassin, an accessory after the fact? If not, why was she so anxious to conceal his name?
A question or two on the part of Idris elicited the fact that it was Beatrice herself who had suggested the experiment with the vase. Lorelie, who was versed in the art of hypnotism, had readily assented, being as eager as Beatrice to learn its secret.
And now that the experiment was over Beatrice looked from Lorelie to Idris, and from Idris to Lorelie, wondering why each seemed so grave.