It hadn’t struck me in that light, but it was quite irrelevant.
“But for your scheme I should have come back without a blow,” he continued; “but then I should have shot McGregor just the same.”
“Because he led the revolt?”
“Because,” said the President, “he has been a traitor from the beginning even to the end—because he tried to rob me of all I held dear in the world. If you like,” he added, with a shrug, “because he stood between me and my will. So I went up to him and told him his hour was come, and I shot him through the head. He died like a man, Martin; I will say that.”
I could not pretend to regret the dead man. Indeed, I had been near doing the same deed myself. But I shrank before this calm ruthlessness.
Another long pause followed. Then the President said:
“I am sorry for all this, Martin—sorry you and I came to blows.”
“You played me false about the money,” I said bitterly.
“Yes, yes,” he answered gently; “I don’t blame you. You were bound to me by no ties. Of course you saw my plan?”
“I supposed your Excellency meant to keep the money and throw me over.”