Varick did not venture to reply. He knew the circumstances, he thought. Bab, almost a Beeston now, would stick to Beeston's bargain.
"She'll come," said Mrs. Tilney doggedly.
She turned toward the stairs, her shoulders drooping, her slippered feet slipslopping a muffled tattoo along the thinly carpeted hall. Just as she reached the stairhead she turned.
"If John Mapleson wants me," said Mrs. Tilney, "send down to the kitchen, Mr. Varick. I'm going down there to wait. If she comes I mean to be on hand to let her in."
Jessup was the next to climb the stairs. At Varick's behest the bookkeeper had gone to the drugstore near by on the Avenue for the things the nurse had wanted. Jessup, as he handed the package through the door, beckoned Varick into the hall.
"What do you think, Mr. Varick?" With a jerk of his thumb he indicated the street outside. "They're back again, those two fellows," he said; "they're watching from a doorway across the street."
Varick frowned. It was the detectives whom Jessup meant, he knew. Why Beeston should send them now to watch John Mapleson, Varick could not guess. Was Mapleson, after all, to be sent to prison? Varick smiled. If so, Beeston came too late. He said this to Jessup.
"Yes, that's right," the latter assented. "Any news from her yet?" he asked then.
"No news."
Jessup's only response was a grunt He had his own opinion of the affair. Mr. Mapleson, having risked everything for Bab, must bear now the brunt of it, dying dishonored and alone. Naturally Bab would not come. She was a Beeston now.