"These are very fine accusations," said Hugo, with a pale sneer, "but I think you will find a difficulty in proving them, Mr.—Vasari."
"I shall have at least no difficulty in proving that you stole money and forged my brother's name three years ago," said Brian, in a voice that was terrible in its icy scorn. "I shall have no difficulty in proving to the world's satisfaction that you shamefully cheated Dino Vasari, and that you twice—yes, twice—tried to murder him, in order to gain your own ends. Hugo Luttrell, you are a coward, a thief, a would-be murderer; and unless you can prove that you were in my mother's room with no evil intent (which I believe to be impossible) you shall be branded with all these names in the world's face."
"There is no proof—there is no legal proof," cried Hugo, boldly. But his lips were white.
"But there is plenty of moral proof, young man," said Mr. Colquhoun's dry voice. "Quite enough to blast your reputation. And what does this empty bottle mean and this broken glass? Perhaps your wife can tell us that."
There was a momentary silence. Mr. Colquhoun held up the little bottle, and pointed with raised eyebrows to the label upon it. Heron was supporting his sister in his arms and trying to revive her: Fane and the impassive constable barred the way between Hugo and the door.
In that pause, a strange, choked sound came from the bed. For the first time for many months Mrs. Luttrell had slightly raised her hand. She said the name that had been upon her lips so many times during the last few weeks, and her eyes were fixed upon the man whom for a lifetime she had called her son.
"Brian!" she said, "Brian!"
And he, suddenly turning pale, relaxed his hold upon Hugo's arm and walked to the bed-side. "Mother," he said, leaning over her, "did you call me? Did you speak to me?"
She looked at him with wistful eyes: her nerveless fingers tried to press his hand. "Brian," she murmured. Then, with a great spasmodic effort: "My son!"
The attention of the others had been concentrated upon this little scene; and for the moment both Fane and Mr. Colquhoun drew nearer to the bed, leaving the door of Mrs. Luttrell's bed-room unguarded. The constable was standing in the dressing-room. It was then that Hugo saw his chance, although it was one which a sane man would scarcely have thought of taking. He made a rush for the bed-room door.