Paralyzed by extreme fright, Mrs. Beatson stood as motionless as a stone image, staring blankly at her captors with open mouth and unwinking eyes. Her face was whiter than the dingy parchment of which she had been deprived, and her breath came and went in short quick gasps, which echoed audibly through the still night. Rupert looked at her for a moment and then turned away his head; his manhood was shamed by the silent agony of the miserable creature. Carrington, more hardened by experience, stooped to the light, and read, "This is the Last Will and Testament of John Hendle," in vividly black Latin lettering. That was enough to assure him of the truth, and, rolling up the parchment, he turned sternly on the panic-struck woman. "You are a clever fool, Mrs. Beatson," he remarked quietly--"clever in getting the will and hiding it so skillfully; but a fool to examine so compromising a document here, when the village policeman may pass at any moment." The word "policeman" galvanized Mrs. Beatson into life and action. With a final gasp she suddenly became, as it seemed, conscious of her peril, and bolted. Down the road and across the road she sped, and was in the spinney before the two men could grasp the situation. For a single moment they stared after the flying figure, then simultaneously started in pursuit. With terror-winged feet the housekeeper fled as swiftly as the wind, and it was not until the brick wall, encircling the park, again loomed through the shadows that they caught up to her. Instinctively, like a homing pigeon, she made for the only place where she thought she would be safe. Much, as Carrington grimly thought, after the fashion of a child, who believes himself to be free from danger when smuggled between the blankets. It was while she was fumbling with the lock of the postern that he laid a detaining hand on her shoulder. With a terrified cry she dropped on her knees. "Mercy! Mercy! I am innocent--innocent," she wailed, and hugged his legs in a frenzy of fear. "Here, get up!" said the barrister, roughly pulling her to her feet. "Come inside and explain yourself." "There's nothing to explain," cried Mrs. Beatson, suddenly defiant; "and you are not my master." "I am more than your master; I am the man who has found you out," stated Carrington, in a hard tone, and pushing open the postern. "Walk in, I tell you." "Gently, Carrington, gently," said Rupert, sorry for the shaking woman, who was desperate enough to say anything or do anything. "We can deal with this matter reasonably. Take my arm, Mrs. Beatson, and come to the house. You can no doubt give us an explanation."