"Pay John Allen Dale or bearer the sum of five hundred pounds." Then underneath in figures "£500 0s. 0d."
"Exactly," Crichton said. Rising to his feet he stood in front of Rupert and looked at him searchingly. "Your father sent you a cheque for five pounds. Since it left your possession the pounds have been changed to five hundred. That sum was paid out by my bankers. Naturally, I want an explanation. Your father sent it to you. You admit having received it, and say you lost it. I'm afraid that explanation doesn't satisfy me."
"You don't mean to say you think——"
Rupert flared up, then stopped.
Five hundred pounds! The significance of the amount suddenly struck him. The amount Ruby Strode had won for him over Ambuscade. Once again he saw himself sitting in his rooms in Westminster facing ruin; he saw himself take his revolver from the drawer and hold it to his breast. Then he felt the arms of the woman he loved round him; he heard her voice telling him it was a coward's way. And when he told her it was the only way, she confessed that she had secretly backed the outsider and won him five hundred pounds.
He began to tremble. His body became wet with perspiration. He heard his father's voice raised apprehensively.
"Rupert, my boy. Speak, for God's sake, speak! Say you know nothing about it."
Rupert raised his face and tried to look at his father. He did not see him; he only saw the face of the woman he loved. She had confessed she loved him better than life itself.
"Speak!" John Dale cried, his voice rising. "Speak!"
"Speak!" Sir Reginald Crichton echoed. "Confess that you are either guilty—or not guilty."