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.
“Why should Cora Lestrade want to spare
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