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Sartoris made a remark that gives me an opening. He came to you to-day with a deed which, unless I am greatly mistaken, purports to be an assignment of property from Sir Charles to Mr. Sartoris. And that property is probably a ruby mine in Burmah." "So far you are quite correct," the lawyer said drily. "Pray proceed." "I must ask you to help me a little," Field cried.
"You are not likely to be outside these walls for some time to come. You have described us in language that you have spared no trouble to render abusive. You know too much. And we have our own way here of dealing with enemies of ours who know too much." There was no mistaking the dreadful threat that underlay the hoarse speech. There was underground murder in the eyes of Sartoris.
Sartoris, as he busied himself in opening a bottle of seltzer-water, "now I am down here I must see Trotbury Cathedral. I suppose it's easy enough to slip over by rail from Commonstone." "Oh dear, yes," replied Jim; "but hang it, that's an idea!
"The year after my marriage, my husband, a Mr Vercoe, who was a great friend of ours, and I, accepted my mother's invitation to spend Christmas with her, and we all three travelled together to Sartoris. "It was an ideal season, and the snow an exceptional sight in my native town lay thick in the Castle grounds.
Sartoris, laughing. "I ought, at all events, to be best in that; but there are three of us. What is Miss Chipchase going to do?" "Oh, she is the Band," rejoined Sylla. "You see, we must have soft music all the way through these charades; and we want somebody to play for us who knows what we are about, and so can follow us."
Acting on the impulse of the moment, and forgetting Inspector Field altogether, Berrington crossed the hall and laid his hand on the knob of the door. Mary Sartoris darted after him, her face white with fear, and terror and anxiety in her accent. "Don't do it," she said, "pray restrain yourself.
I appeal to you as a gentleman." In spite of himself Berrington was touched. He had never regarded Sartoris as anything of an actor, and he seemed to be in deadly earnest now. Was it just possible that the man had it in him to do a kindly thing? If so it seemed a pity to thwart him. Berrington looked fairly and squarely into the eyes of the speaker, but they did not waver in the least.
"Porter Pinckard," Miss Breckenridge answered, indifferently, before entering into a confidential exchange of brevities with Miss Sartoris. "I'll call him out, and run him through the liver," said Peter Pomeroy, "the miserable catiff! I'll brook no rivals, Billy." Billy merely smiled lazily at this; her eyes were far more eloquent than her tongue, as she was well aware.
Carol, a slender, black-eyed, dusky-skinned girl of seventeen, took her place beside Miss Sartoris on the fender, granting a brief unsmiling nod to one or two friends, and eying the group between the loose locks of her smoky, cropped black hair with the inscrutable, almost brooding, expression that was her favorite affectation.
Beauchamp could run, but as to where Sylla Chipchase could have attained such intimate knowledge of his accomplishments; while Mr. Cottrell alone showed faith in this unknown champion, observing cynically to Mrs. Sartoris, that when women went the length of wagering their bracelets, he thought it most advisable to be upon their side.
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