"Mr. Despard—Bob—you are rich now and powerful. You've got everything you want in the world."
"Not quite," he said, leaning towards her.
"Nearly everything," she continued. "You've got money, and that buys most things."
"Yes," Despard grinned. There was a moment's pause, and again he leaned towards her. "Have you anything you want to sell?"
Once more the colour mounted her cheeks.
"Perhaps," she stammered. "I'll tell you straight out. There's nothing I wouldn't do in order to clear Rupert Dale's name."
Despard leaned back and flicked the ash off his cigar. "The same old subject. Gad, one would think you believed I altered the cheque, I'm the guilty person. I've told you and your pal, Jim Crichton, that I can do nothing, that I know nothing."
Ruby drew still a little closer to him. In the dimly-lit room she looked exceedingly beautiful. Yes, he admitted that she still fascinated him as she had done a year or two ago.
"Listen," she whispered. "I know if you had spoken at the trial you would have saved Rupert."
"Supposing for the sake of argument that I could have. What then?"