“I’ve not tried to kill you,” said Ilam.
“You’ve tried to shoot me and to poison me. Why, I cannot imagine.”
“I’ve not,” repeated Ilam.’
And, in spite of himself, Carpentaria was impressed by the apparent truthfulness of Ilam’s tone.
“Then who has?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Ilam lamely. “I don’t know what you mean, what you are referring to. But I’ll give you fifty thousand a year for ten years to go—to go.”
“No,” said Carpentaria. “I’m here. I stay.”
“Then, you’ll take the consequences.”
“I always take the consequences. But what consequences, my friend?”
“Well,” Ilam coughed, “you say there have been attempts on your life. Suppose they are continued? What then? I should like to save you. And perhaps I can only save you by persuading you to vanish.”