Barnshaw’s voice was cold and hard when he replied. “Indeed? How did you hear of it?”
“In—in London—quite by accident.”
“What is that you have in your hand?” asked Barnshaw, in the same tone.
Philip slowly raised his hand, which held the thing Dr. Cripps had dropped, and held it up in the light; it sparkled and glittered, and threw back a hundred changing brilliancies to the night.
“It is my sister’s necklace,” said Barnshaw. “Give it to me.” Then, as he took it in his hand, he said slowly—“This was taken out of the house to-night, by the men who have escaped. They have all got away—except yourself——”
“Good God, Barnshaw,” faltered the other—“you surely don’t think——”
“You knew that the robbery was to be committed; so much, on your own confession. I find you hiding in the garden, with this actually in your hands.” Without another word, he turned, and walked slowly back to the house.
For some moments, Philip knelt upon the ground where the other had left him, staring after Barnshaw like one stunned. Then, slowly and heavily, he rose from his knees and went out of the garden, with bowed head, and without once looking round.
Meanwhile, Dr. Cripps, being incapable of the feat of agility which had carried his friends over the hedge, went crashing straight through it; ducked suddenly, and ran along on the other side, beneath it, in order to keep out of the view of any one who might be on the lookout for him. And, running thus, he dashed straight into the arms of a man who was also crouching down behind it. After a very brief struggle, feeling himself in a grip from which it was impossible to escape, he resigned himself to circumstances, remained passive, and looked up at his captor.
“Ogledon!” he ejaculated. “I thought it was a policeman!”