ere on
that morning. The Corsair knew the facts, and no one but the Corsair.
That the Corsair was a Corsair, the suspicions of the police had
proved to her. She had offered the necklace to the Corsair; but when
so offered, he had refused to take it. She could understand that he
should see the danger of accepting the diamonds from her hand, and
yet should be desirous of having them. And might not he have thought
that he could best relieve her from the burthen of their custody in
this manner? She felt no anger against the Corsair as she weighed
the probability of his having taken them in this fashion. A Corsair
must be a Corsair. Were he to come to her and confess the deed, she
would almost like him the better for it,--admiring his skill and
enterprise. But how very clever he must have been, and how brave!
He had known, no doubt, that the three ladies were all going to the
theatre; but in how short a time had he got rid of the other women
and availed himself of the services of Patience Crabstick!

But in what way would she conduct herself when the police should come
to her on the following morning,--the police and all the other people
who would crowd to the house? How should she receive her cousin
Frank? How should she look when the coincidence of the double robbery
should be spoken of in her hearing? How should she bear herself when,
as of course would be the case, she should again be taken before the
magistrates, and made to swear as to the loss of her property? Must
she commit more perjury, with the certainty that various people must
know that her oath was false? All the world would suspect her. All
the world would soon know the truth. Might it not be possible that
the diamonds were at this moment in the hands of Messrs. Camperdown,
and that they would be produced before her eyes, as soon as her
second false oath had been registered against her? And yet how could
she tell the truth? And what would the Corsair think of her,--the
Corsair, who would know everything? She made one resolution during
the night. She would not be taken into court. The magistrates and
the people might come to her, but she would not go before them. When
the morning came she said that she was ill, and refused to leave her
bed. Policemen, she knew, were in the house early. At about nine Mrs.
Carbuncle and Lucinda were up and in her room. The excitement of the
affair had taken them from their beds,--but she would not stir. If it
were absolutely nec