“I will talk in any manner you like,” returned Mr. Jetsam, “provided you will let me come into the room and explain to you what I want.”
“Impossible,” she replied.
“Why impossible? It is, on the contrary, perfectly easy,” said Mr. Jetsam. “All I have to do is to close the window”—and he closed it—“to come into the room”—and he came in—“and to ask you to be good enough to listen.”
He put down his felt hat on a chair.
He now stood within the room, a couple of feet from Pauline, in the direction of the bed, but with his back to it.
Pauline, with a sudden sharp movement, darted to the mantelpiece, by the side of which was the bell-push. In the same instant he, too, darted forward and clutched her wrist, just as she was about to touch the bell. They held themselves rigid for a moment, like statues.
“I understand your feelings,” said Mr. Jetsam in a shaken voice. “I admire you. But before you ring that bell, let me assure you most solemnly that if you do ring it you will bring murder into this house. You will utterly ruin one family, if not two. Believe what I say; you cannot help but believe it. A man’s character for truthfulness shows itself in every accent of his voice, and by this time, you must be very well aware that when I speak, I speak the truth.”
Pauline moved from the mantelpiece and he loosed her arm.
“Well?” she said interrogatively.
She did not know it, but she was breathing very rapidly through her nose, and her charming nostrils were distended. Still, she probably noticed the admiration in Mr. Jetsam’s glance.