Though he was neither kith nor kin to her—not even an acquaintance—her honour was safe with him, and he felt he would have staked his very life upon her truth.
He motioned Roderick to follow him, took him into the little sitting-room, closed the door, and faced him with righteous indignation.
“You are in my hands, Captain Pym, and at my mercy,” he said, harshly. “Only the truth can save you from exposure. It lies with Dr. Hildyard and myself whether there shall be an inquest or no; the cause of the patient’s death is sufficiently obscure to warrant legal investigation. As you know, every scrap of evidence must then be brought forward. Your letters will be produced. You will find yourself in an awkward position.”
This last blow, given literally in the dark, went home. Roderick bit his lip and looked dangerously at Hugh. For a full quarter of a minute the men’s eyes met, unflinching, then Roderick began to pace the room.
“One would think you had tampered with the woman yourself—at least, I might think so—only I happen to know you have succumbed to the fascinations of my cousin,” he said, sneeringly. “It is to this, I suppose, I owe your zeal on behalf of this young person.”
“Let us keep ladies’ names out of the conversation, Captain Pym,” said Hugh, who had flinched at the bare mention of Lilia. “Tell me the truth, like a man, and I will restore you your letters and bid you good-morning. But one condition will I make.”
Roderick paused, and looked full in his antagonist’s face.
“And that?” he said.
“You will entirely renounce all idea of marrying your cousin,” said Hugh.
It was his turn to pale to an ashen tint.