When Beverley Sands had shut the door between Clodagh’s room and Sister Lake’s, she stood silent before Justin O’Reilly.

“Well, Mrs. Sands,” he said, “I must congratulate you.”

“On what?” she stammered. She looked very young and humble, not at all the proud princess who had captured Roger Sands against his will.

O’Reilly answered, still smiling his cruel smile, “It’s not too late for congratulations on your marriage, is it? By the way, perhaps one wishes well to the bride and congratulates the bridegroom! I mean nothing invidious.”

“You mean to hurt me all you can!” Beverley cried.

“I’m on the other side, Mrs. Sands.”

“Don’t I know that!” she answered bitterly. “I’ve known since I saw you on board the Santa Fe Limited that day last September. I expected some one else, not you. But I guessed in an instant why you had come.”

“I accepted the obligations of friendship,” O’Reilly deigned to explain. “And that brings us to one of the subjects for congratulation: your friend. A wonderful young person. I congratulate you highly upon her. She informed me that she’d gladly die for you. Judging from her looks, she isn’t far from doing so. I’m sure you must want to go to her now. Oh, by the by, one more congratulation: the pearls.”

“How did you know?” Beverley forgot her humiliation in sheer amazement.

“Weren’t you told that Heron was trying to buy them for his wife?” O’Reilly waived her question with another.

“No, indeed! They were a surprise present to me this afternoon from my husband. If I’d known that Mr. Heron....”

“You don’t expect me to believe you’d have sacrificed them to Heron, or his wife, do you, Mrs. Sands?” O’Reilly laughed.

“I almost think I would. I’ll give the pearls up to Mrs. Heron if you’ll do as as Clodagh Riley asked you to do. Oh, for pity’s sake! I’d pay more than the pearls for those papers. I’d pay with my life if that would be of any use. I know it wouldn’t. But the pearls can’t we bargain with the pearls?”

“We can’t bargain at all, Mrs. Sands,” O’Reilly said gravely. “I must go. I have an engagement to dine with the Herons. I should like to hear how my namesake is, and then I will be off.”

Beverley had expected little from an appeal to this man’s pity, but the coincidence of Heron’s desire for the pearls was so strange that it ought to mean something. It seemed terrible that such a chance should be wasted. Could she persuade Roger to let her give up the pearls? O’Reilly would look at the wonderful things and report upon their beauty. The Herons might be tempted to treat with her. In any case, the scheme was worth the trial.

Silently she went to the door that she had closed, and peeped into Sister Lake’s room. It was no surprise to her that Clodagh should have vanished. That was part of the plan. Her exclamation was for O’Reilly’s benefit.

“The child’s gone!” she cried. “That means she’s feeling better. She must be in my room or in my boudoir. Will you come with me? We’ll look for her. It will be on your way out.”

O’Reilly followed into the hall. Beverley, thinking quickly, went to the door of her own special sitting room, which adjoined her bedroom. A backward glance told her that the man had stopped facing the vestibule which gave exit from the flat. “Wait one moment,” she said. “I’ll see where Clodagh is.” As she touched the door of the boudoir she was surprised to find it yielding before she turned the handle. This was odd, because she remembered shutting it the last time she came out. She had left the room only at the moment when O’Reilly brought in the half-fainting girl; and she had been particular to close the door because of the pearls. She had placed them on a table in the boudoir, ready for the pearl-stringer. Not that she feared their being stolen! Her own maid had been sent out for the afternoon. Two of the other servants had been given a holiday. Only the butler, the cook, and his assistant were at home, and all three had been in Roger’s employ for years. They were above suspicion, and besides, they knew nothing of the pearls. Not a soul knew, save herself, Roger, Clo, and now O’Reilly. Roger had started off in his car before she brought the pearls from her bedroom into the boudoir. Who, then, had opened the door? Perhaps, after all, Clo had not dared attempt the second adventure. Perhaps she was still in the flat, and for some reason to be explained later, had taken refuge in the boudoir?

A glance, however, showed that the girl was not there. The electric light flashed upon a room untenanted. There was the magnificent but broken rope in its case, wound in gleaming, concentric circles, the unstrung pearls retrieved from the floor grouped together on the purple cushion. The door stood open between boudoir and bedroom. Beverley thought that this had been shut also, though she was not sure. “Clo!” she called softly. There was some slight sound, or she imagined it. Quickly she went to the bedroom door, and peeped in, flooding the place with light. Clo was not to be seen. Turning off the electricity again Beverley went out to O’Reilly in the hall.

“Come with me one moment,” she said. “I’ve something to show you.”

O’Reilly hesitated.

“Is your friend there? Does she wish to speak to me?” he asked.

“Come and see,” Beverley persisted. She led the way into the boudoir, and reluctantly her companion crossed the threshold. Mrs. Sands pointed to the pearls. “I wanted so much to show them to you. See how wonderful they are! Mr. Heron’s so proud of his wife. I could arrange some plan, I’m sure, if if

A door slammed, and Beverley’s sentence broke off with a gasp. Mechanically she shut down the cover of the velvet case. If Roger had come back; if, after all, he had only pretended to go for the pearl-stringer! She dared not guess what he would think at finding O’Reilly with her in his house. Too well she remembered the day of their one quarrel, when he had brought up this man’s name in connection with Clo’s, when he had accused her of crying it out in her sleep.

“Mr. O’Reilly,” she said, very quietly, “that may be my husband coming home. If it is, you will have to meet him. It can’t be avoided. But I should like to speak to him first, if you will wait in this room for a moment.”

Without giving him time to answer she ran out. Minutes passed. Justin heard voices, women’s voices. One, it seemed to him, was raised in anger. After all, it couldn’t be Sands who had come! O’Reilly grew impatient, and fumbling for his watch he found it gone. Great Scott! Stolen! He remembered a certain small key attached to the chain. In a flash of enlightenment the whole plot mapped itself out before his eyes. Furious, his impulse was to dash from the room and denounce the chief culprit. But Beverley Sands’ appeal to his chivalry stopped him like a chain round his feet.

Now she called his name, and he opened the door.

“It was my friend’s nurse who came in,” she said. “She threatens to leave at once. I must talk with her, try to soothe her down before my husband comes. He hasn’t arrived, after all and may not for a long time. But the way I felt when I thought he was here, shows me I oughtn’t to keep you. Tell me once and for all before you go, now you’ve seen the pearls; is there any hope?”

“None whatever,” O’Reilly cut her short. “I’m going, Mrs. Sands. You need have no fear of me where your husband’s concerned, though I understand now exactly why I was brought here, why I was kept till you were afraid to keep me longer. Your little friend is as smart at picking pockets as she is at acting. Again, I congratulate you upon her. But the effort’s going to be wasted. Good-night.”

Beverley stood still, and let him go. She had no answer to make. Precisely what he meant by his accusation she did not understand, but she knew that, while she detained him, Clo had indeed dared the great adventure. For a moment Beverley thought of the pearls almost with distaste. That they should come to her to-day, when she cared for nothing in the world but the lost papers, was an irony of fate. She did not return to the boudoir. She forgot the mystery of the open door, and neglected to close it. She was nervously anxious to excuse herself to Sister Lake. Above all, it was her duty to defend Clo. She must confess that it was upon her errand the girl had defied authority.

“Please don’t blame the child,” she pleaded. “She knew I needed something done for me a thing I couldn’t do myself. So she made this sacrifice. You must forgive us both.”

But Sister Lake was not to be placated. If Miss Riley were well enough to do Mrs. Sands’ errands by day and night, a nurse’s services were no longer needed. Sister Lake considered herself well paid, and would accept no present in addition. The butler was summoned to call a taxi and attend to sending down the small luggage. Meantime the Queen’s pearls were forgotten.