n'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 tak