It was Honora, however, whom I watched most closely. Her color came and went. One moment she seemed as pale as death; the next her face was flushed and burning. Yet she said nothing, though I knew she could have shrieked.
What did it mean? Had she told the truth? Or had she confessed to something, in the hope of saving him?
For the moment Shattuck was the calmest in the room, as generally happens in a crisis of this nature with the principal actor in the scene.
"Let me tell you exactly what happened," he began, deliberately, avoiding as much as possible the mocking gaze of Doyle, who seemed delighted at the course of events.
Shattuck paused and cleared his throat, as though to gain time to think out the correct order of events.
"I came to the office," he continued, slowly. "It was quite late, but I found Vail Wilford there and alone," he emphasized the word. "As I entered, he was sitting at his desk. He turned and spoke to me. I don't recall just what it was that he said, but that doesn't make any difference now.
"I had thought the whole thing out before. I knew perfectly what I was there for. The situation—the wide scandal between himself and Vina Lathrop—had become intolerable. As for me, I may as well confess that the growing unhappiness of Mrs. Wilford preyed on my mind—until I was almost mad."
I heard Honora take a sharp breath, as though to control her feelings. She was leaning forward now, her cheeks burning, her eyes fixed on the face of the man who was speaking. With every word, I could see her emotions rising higher. Never had I dreamed that it was in this woman to show such depth of feeling. It was as though she were passing through some transformation which she herself did not understand, but which was changing her own soul and making a new creature of her.
"I cannot recall just what passed between us," went on Shattuck, as though eager to hasten on and have it over with. "It was about his wife and what I thought his duties were. Every moment I could see that he was growing more and more angry—which was what I intended. Finally he rose, threatening. Wilford was a powerful man and no mean antagonist—but I had come prepared. I had my gun at his breast before he knew it. I forced him back into his chair.
"'Honora is being driven mad by the way things are going,' I remember I shouted at him. 'One or the other of us must get out of her life.'