“And you will produce him?”
“I will produce him.”
“And in such haste?”
“Yes, in such haste.”
There was something so astounding in this threat and in the resolve with which it was uttered that not only Clarke Unwin recoiled, but the hardy adventurer himself showed momentary signs of quailing. But he quickly recovered himself, and glancing at Polly, who stood clinging to Clarke, white as a wraith in her terror and amazement, cried aloud: “Now I know you for a madman. Being Ephraim Earle myself, and innocent of any deeper crime than the one I have frankly acknowledged to you, I can afford to meet my double, even at my poor wife’s grave. Doubtless he will be a very good semblance of myself, and my only wonder is that the doctor has not produced him sooner.”
“Laugh, laugh!” repeated the doctor, in a terrible voice, “for to-morrow you will be in prison.” And stalking by them all, he proceeded to the door, where he paused to say in a voice whose solemn tones rang long in their ears, “Remember! to-morrow morning at seven in the churchyard.” And he was gone.
A silence which even the dazed adventurer dared not break followed this startling exit. Then Polly, in a quivering voice, murmured below her breath, “He is mad! I knew it before I came here. Pray Heaven that he has not been made so by crime.”
At these words, so unexpected and so welcome to the man whose position had been thus violently threatened, Earle lifted his head and cast a reassured look about him.
“Stick to that, my daughter,” he muttered, “stick to that; it is the only explanation of his conduct;” and walking down the hall he added in a subdued tone, as he passed the hitherto unnoticed figure of a man standing in the rear passage, “I will still have the five thousand dollars! Nothing that this madman can do will hinder that.”