‘And another thing, surely?’ he asked, smiling now. ‘That you should behave as an honourable man and go back to Miss Hipgrave?’ A low laugh marked the point he had scored. Then he added, with his usual shrug, ‘We are slaves, we men, slaves all.’
He rose from his chair and completed his preparations for going out, flinging a long military cloak over his shoulders. His momentary irresolution, or remorse, or what you will, had passed. His speech became terse and resolute again.
‘We shall meet early to-morrow, I expect,’ he said, ‘and then we must settle this matter. Do I understand that you are resolved not to yield.’
‘I am absolutely resolved,’ said I, and at the sight of his calm sneering face my temper suddenly got the better of me. ‘Yes, I’m resolved. You can do what you like. You can bribe ruffians to assassinate me, as I believe you’ve bribed Constantine.’
He started at that, as a man will at plain speech, even though the plain speech tells him nothing that he did not know of the speaker’s mind.
‘The blood of that unhappy woman is on your head,’ I cried vehemently. ‘Through your act she lies dead. If a like fate befalls me, the blame of that will be on your head also. It is you, and not your tool, who will be responsible.’
‘Responsible!’ he echoed. His voice was mocking and easy, though his face was paler even than it was wont to be. ‘Responsible! What does that mean? Responsible to whom?’
‘To God,’ said I.
He laughed a low derisive laugh.
‘Come, that’s better,’ he said. ‘I expected you to say public opinion. Your sentiment is more respectable than that clap-trap of public opinion. So be it. I shall be responsible. Where will you be?’ He paused, smiling, and ended, ‘And where Phroso?’