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Updated: May 26, 2025
Beatrice asked. "That's the man. Though I cannot see how you came to know that. I met Sartoris before on business. He wanted me to sell him some rubbishy Ruby Mines concessions that Lord Edward Decié and myself procured years ago. I refused to take his money then; it did not seem fair. Besides I was in funds at the time." Beatrice could hardly refrain from smiling at the naïve confession.
"Evidently a pretty good firm," Field muttered. "I'll go round there at once and see Mr. George Fleming. But there is one thing, you will be silent as to all I have told you. We are on the verge of very important discoveries, and a word at random might ruin everything." Violet Decié said that she perfectly well understood what she had to do. "Sartoris may try to see you again," Field continued.
There is the scoundrel Stephen Richford who tricked Beatrice Darryll into marrying him, and then there is also a ruffian called Dr. James Bentwood. What was that?" "It seemed to me like a cry of pain," Mary Sartoris said in a frozen whisper. It was very like a cry of pain indeed, a fluttering, feeble cry ending in a moaning protest.
A pull, and the door came open. Berrington was free at last. As soon as he realised that fact his professional caution came back to him. He kicked off his boots, and finding the Webley revolver, loaded in all chambers, he crept like a cat down the stairs, and looked into the study. Sartoris lay back in his chair with his hands bound to his sides.
I took them from the safe in my hotel, fearing that there would be complications, but I was wrong, and I am sorry that I did so." "And why are you sorry?" Sartoris asked. "Because the stones were far safer there than they are here," Beatrice said. There was no mistaking the girl's insinuation; even Sartoris reddened. "So you mean to say that you suspect me?" he asked.
Sartoris pointing in an accusing manner to the window, and Sylla with clasped hands mutely protesting her innocence and ignorance of the robbery. With the clue afforded by the solution of the first syllable, the audience very soon make out the second; and that the word was either "mistake" or "mistaken" they entertained little doubt.
It was quite true, and Sartoris had no reply for the moment. He seemed to be struggling to regain his lost self-possession. Then he glanced at the man called Reggie, who shrugged his shoulders. Sartoris was himself again by this time. "It was certainly an effect of the imagination," he cried. "Let us talk of other things.
"How I should like to shake the life out of that woman!" thought Lady Mary, as she smilingly murmured that "if Mrs. Sartoris had the courage to face the horrors of an Easter ball, there was, of course, the carriage at her disposal." "Bravo, Mrs.
Berrington was listening outside the door and feeling that the time for him to interfere was close at hand. "It is exactly as these people say," Beatrice admitted. "It is very good of them to take all this trouble," Sartoris said in a sulky voice. "Because of those stones in your pocket they are here to-night. They followed you here, because they are both lovers of that kind of thing.
Sartoris in the centre of the stage, with Jim Bloxam on one knee, kissing the hand she extends towards him. On her other side, Mr. Sartoris, made up as an elderly gentleman, with coat thrown very much back, thumbs stuck in the armholes of his waistcoat, contemplates the pair with a look of bland satisfaction.
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