"I shan't give it to him," muttered the housekeeper, trying to control her shattering emotions. "What has he got to do with me, I should like to know? You are always a gentleman, Mr. Hendle, and I wish you a better friend. Spying and prying, watching and following. Call yourself a man, do you? Ha! Ha! call yourself a man? God help the woman who marries you, say I." Neither of the two made any reply to this aimless speech, and babbling incoherently, Mrs. Beatson was led by Hendle to the house. Fortunately none of the servants were in the entrance-hall, and when Rupert opened the door with his latch-key, Mrs. Beatson swept in toward the drawing-room, which was lighted up. Carrington and his friend followed close behind, to find her seated in an armchair, fanning her heated face with the hood which she had removed. Her color had returned and her self-possession, so that she eyed the pair defiantly. Her attentions were mostly directed toward Carrington, and if a look could have slain him, he would have dropped dead there and then. "Come now," said the barrister, when the door was closed and the trio were alone, "what have you got to say to all this?" "I shan't answer you," snapped Mrs. Beatson viciously. "You aren't going to bully me." "I think you had better answer," said Hendle, sternly. "This is not the time to play the fool." "Are you against me also, sir?" "I am advising you for your good. As to being against you, what attitude do you expect me to assume toward you, seeing how treacherously you have behaved, Mrs. Beatson?" "Treacherously?" "Yes! You listened to a conversation not meant for your ears and reported the same to Mr. Mallien." "Did he tell you so?" "There was no need for him to tell Mr. Hendle," said Carrington pointedly. "The mere fact that Mr. Mallien knows about this will proclaims your guilt." "Guilt! Guilt!" repeated the housekeeper violently. "I shall thank you, sir, not to use that word in connection with me." "I shall use it. Don't be a fool, woman! You knew about this will before Mr. Leigh was murdered, and you killed him to get it." "It's a lie!" "Then how do you explain your possession of the will?" "What is your supposition?" demanded Mrs. Beatson, more like a judge than a criminal. "If you will have it," returned the barrister, smoothly. "I believe you murdered the vicar to get the will, and having found it, buried the same in that jungle. Then you made your terms with Mr. Mallien, and he agreed to give you an annuity of two hundred a year, if you passed the will along to him. When you thought that all was safe, you went to dig the will up again, and here it is." Carrington pulled the soiled parchment from his pocket, where he had placed it for safety, doubled up into a packet, and shook it in her face. Mrs. Beatson changed from red to white, and from white to red, but maintained a scornful look. "You are talking nonsense," she said briefly.