Her bitter animosity against him had but grown with years. An accidental circumstance had brought to her a suspicion that George Heneage's hiding-place was in England; and she had laid her plans and entered Chandos in the full intention of discovering it. My presence there had somewhat baffled her: she could not go peeping about in my sight; she took Mr. Chandos's private book from his desk in the hope that it might help her to the discovery she had at heart, and then invented the story of losing her lace to divert the scent from herself. Later, she conceived another scheme—that of getting me out of the house; and she stole the money to put it into my box; and arranged the supposed opening of her reticule in my room, and the reading of her sealed letter; and abstracted the letter I had put on the hall-table, hoping Mr. Chandos would fall into the trap and send me from Chandos. Now could be understood her former anxiety that the police should search her boxes and mine; hers were ready for the inspection, mine had the money in them; and, at that time (as I knew later) also the memorandum-book. Something else was found in her boxes besides skeleton keys—a grey cloak. Putting one thing with another, Mr. Chandos thought he had little need of further speculation as to who had stopped his horse in the avenue that night, and caused his fall from it. And the reason may as well be mentioned here, though it is anticipating our knowledge of it. She had lingered about the private groves of Chandos until dusk that afternoon, hoping to see Mr. Edwin Barley, whose house she was forbidden; in going forth at length, openly, having put her cloak on because she was cold—and how it was Hill had not seen it on her arm when talking with her in the portico, was a mystery, for she had brought it to Chandos, left it in the hall there, and taken it upon her departure—in going down the avenue she met Mr. Chandos riding up it. She had never before seen him, and she took him in the dusk for his brother. She actually thought she was encountering George Heneage; and the noise with which she approached the horse and flung up her arms, was not made to frighten the animal, but simply to express execration, in her great surprise. At the same moment, even as it escaped her, she discovered her mistake, and that it was not George Heneage.
"Now, madam," said Mr. Chandos, the search over, the proofs in the officers' hands, "what have you to urge why I should not give you into custody? You have been living in my mother's house under false colours; you have been rifling locks; you have taken my money; you have been writing anonymous letters, and carrying tales to Mr. Edwin Barley."
"All that I have done, I was justified in doing," she answered, braving it out. "I was at work in your house, Harry Chandos, as a detective: my acts bore but one aim—the discovery of your brother, the murderer. And I have succeeded. In an hour's time from this, perhaps, the tables will be turned. As to your money, Mr. Chandos, it is wrapped in paper and directed to you. I don't steal money."
"What palliation have you to offer for your conduct? what excuse against my giving you into custody?" repeated Mr. Chandos.
"If you choose to do it, do it," she returned. "Some one of far greater import than I will be shortly taken into custody from this house. I am of the kin of the Barleys: you and they are implacable enemies: all stratagems are fair when the discovery of criminals, hiding from the law, is in question. I have only done my duty; I would do it again. Give me into custody if you like, Mr. Chandos. The tables will soon be turned."
"No, they will not be turned in the sense you would insinuate, and for that reason I can afford to be generous," answered Mr. Chandos. "Had real harm come of this matter, I would have prosecuted you to the utmost rigour of the law. But, as it is beyond your power now, or Mr. Edwin Barley's either, to do us harm, you may go from us scot-free. But I cannot allow you to remain longer at Chandos. Forgive the seeming inhospitality, if I say I would prefer that you should not wait to partake of another meal in the house. Your things shall be sent after you. Or, if you prefer to gather them together, these officers will wait while you do it, and then escort you from my house into that of Mr. Edwin Barley."
"I will not be escorted abroad by police officers," she passionately answered.
"You possess no choice, madam. I have, so far, given you into their charge: and they will take care to undertake it."
A very short while seemed to suffice to put her things together, and Mrs. Penn came forth, attended by the two officers. In some mood of reckless defiance, or perhaps to conceal herself as much as possible from the gaze of the world, she had put on the grey cloak and drawn the hood over her head.
Mr. Chandos recognised her at once, as she had looked that night. He could but be a gentleman, and had gone out to the hall in courtesy when she came down to depart. The sight of her thus startled him for a moment.