"Before you go I will explain what is puzzling you," the General went on, addressing himself to Benzon, and pointing to the dummy package in Cora Lestrade’s hand. "You are under the impression that those are the bonds, and you are half inclined to think that we are letting you go in ignorance of what you believe to be the case—that the genuine bonds were handed to that lady in the crypt by the Duke. Know, then, that the Duke wasn’t in the crypt at all, nor were any bonds handed over. His Grace’s place was taken by Mr. Forsyth there, who succeeded in getting from her the spurious bonds and handed her in return a lot of blank paper. See—examine it for yourself." And quickly possessing himself of the parcel, he held it for inspection. A spasm crossed Benzon’s sinister face, and there escaped him the involuntary cry: "But you looked at the things, Cora, and pronounced them correct. You said we were only coming here for the heirlooms in the safe; yet you must have known." "Quite so," the General proceeded, disregarding a smothered remark from the female culprit. "She knew that she had been hoodwinked, because she recognized my nephew under his disguise, and so at once examined the parcel. Thereupon she deceived you and her other associates for a private reason that had nothing to do with the interests of your precious combination. Like to hear what that reason was?" Benzon flung a reproachful, half-imploring look at his strangely garbed chief, as though seeking for a denial from her, but failing to catch her downcast eye, he gave a sullen assent to the question. "Very well," the General went on, inexorably. "She withheld her confidence from her colleagues because she desired to save the life of Mr. Forsyth from the murderous vengeance of you gentlemen who are so handy with charcoal braziers and railway accidents. So she made a last desperate effort to obtain the bonds by persuading you to break into the safe under a false pretext—used you as tools, do you understand?—to repair her own breach of faith to you without having to confess it. Her idea was doomed to failure, anyway, for, apart from his Grace’s vigilance, she was effectually watched by Miss Hanbury from the moment of her readmission into the house by that Frenchwoman. When ’Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’,"—with a fine scorn on the name—"crept out dressed like that, we wanted to see whether she would go straight to her room when she came back, don’t you know." He paused, but not with an air of finality. No one had ever suspected Jem Sadgrove in the old days of an eye for dramatic effect. He must have been coached by somebody into leading up to the question now to be put with fierce insistence by the saturnine Benzon, and, to judge by the eager interest in Sybil’s dilated eyes, that young lady had been the coach.