"Oh!" he laughed softly; "I hold all the clews, so it seems less of a rodomontade to me than, perhaps, to others. I alone know of the little ceremony in Newgate, which explains all."
"Oh! it explains all, does it?" she repeated reflectively. "I should be glad to hear the explanation, now you have propounded the conundrum."
"'Tis simple enough. When Barbara Sweeting told the story of the necklace, you instantly jumped at the same conclusion as the rest of us—namely, that Robin Freemantle, secure in his disguise, had made the use of his opportunity that a robber naturally would, and had stolen the most valuable thing he could lay his hands on—"
"Oh! then you don't give me the credit of the robbery?" she exclaimed with a pout. "It would have added so much to the interest of the romance if I—"
"You? Oh! Lady Prudence, can you ask me such a question?" he interrupted, in a tone of vehement reproach. "I only give you credit for hastening to warn your—husband of his danger and carrying away the incriminating proof of his guilt; and I admire your courage and generosity though I deplore its object."
"Have you quite finished this romantic story, Sir Geoffrey?" queried Prue, dismissing his personal opinion with a disdainful toss of her fan.
"The preface only, but the rest will wait," he replied, with a sinister smile.
"Then perhaps you would like to hear what really happened? It would be useless for me to deny—even if I wished—that I spoke with Captain Freemantle, at the ball—"
"Quite so," Sir Geoffrey agreed blandly.
"Not that I wish to deny it," she went on petulantly; "at a masquerade everything is permitted, and you, my dear Sir Geoffrey, know better than any one else, this gentleman's claim upon my attention. Still, I fail to see any connection between Captain Freemantle's presence at the ball and the disappearance of the necklace—about which, you must acknowledge, that I know more than any one else, since I found—and restored it."