"Well, you see, people will talk as Mallien has talked," said the barrister with a shrug. "You and I alone knew about the will. I was in town, so no one can say a word about me. But you, near at hand, and----"
"What is the use of talking rubbish?" interrupted Rupert sharply. "I never was near the place on that night, and if people talk, well, they must just talk, as I am perfectly innocent. Besides, you forget that Mallien knew about the will."
"Only after the murder, as Mrs. Beatson probably did not tell him beforehand."
"I don't suppose she did. Hum!" Rupert stopped and looked down at his neat brown boots and gaiters. "Queer that I never thought of asking Mallien when she did tell him. I'll ask him next time we meet. Just now we can cross out Mallien as knowing. But Mrs. Beatson----"
"Exactly," interrupted Carrington gravely; "it occurs to me that she knows more about the matter than she chooses to say."
"But you don't mean to infer that she killed the vicar?"
"Why not? She knew about the will and guessed that if she could get hold of it she could make you squeal."
"At the risk of being accused of murdering Leigh."
Carrington nodded. "Perhaps. But then she may think that you would hold your tongue about that if she gave you the will."
Hendle walked on sharply. "I don't believe a word of what you say," he cried, looking much worried. "Mrs. Beatson has behaved treacherously, but I don't think for one moment that she would kill the vicar."
"Perhaps not," said Carrington soothingly. "Well, then, let us say nothing to her, but watch. If she is guilty, she is bound to betray herself. The main thing is not to let her suspect that you have found out her treachery."
Hendle took off his cap and let the balmy air play on his hot head. "It is very unpleasant," he said in a vexed tone.
"Very," assented the barrister cordially; "but for your own sake----"
"Well, well, do what you like, Carrington. The case is in your hands."
Generally speaking, it seemed as though Mallien's prophecy of Carrington picking Rupert's pockets was likely to come true. Owing to circumstances, the barrister had found a perfectly legitimate way of getting money from his friend, and intended to take every advantage of the opportunity. He explained to Hendle that it would be necessary for him to remain at The Big House until all these crooked affairs were straightened out, and that, his time being valuable, he would require a handsome fee for his services. The Squire professed himself quite willing that things should be so arranged, but he was scarcely so dense as Carrington believed him to be. He saw that the visitor was anxious to make money, and concluded that perhaps it was best to settle matters on this coldly legal basis. The cut-and-dried situation was thus perfectly understood by both men, and they got on very amicably together. On the surface everything was as it should be.