“Give me time,” he said then. “Let me have a week—three days—one day——” he pleaded as I shook my head. And at last he gave in.
“Now for my last condition,” I said as I took the letter. “You will leave the city at once—to-day.”
“Give me more time. I shall go of course after this, but I must have some time—two days at least—to make arrangements.”
“Not one hour after to-day. If you are still in the city to-morrow, this message will go to Lucien Prelot.”
And with that final shot I left him.
There was only a very small fly in the amber of my satisfaction at the result of the interview. I had secured all I wanted. I had caused the rupture of the engagement to Miralda, had put an end to his hold over her brother, had obtained the proofs of his treachery toward Barosa, and had given him a notice to quit which he would not dare to disobey.
The only point where I had failed had been in learning that strange secret at the back of his fears which had made him refuse to write the letter to the visconte. It was in some way connected with the betrothal; but beyond that, I could not even hazard a guess.
But I was in too high spirits at what I had gained to worry over the minor failure. Indeed, the prospect of a secret understanding with Miralda was so alluring that I was more than half disposed to be glad that the thing had taken this particular course, and decided not to lose a minute before telling her the news.
I was hurrying off to her when I remembered my promise to have the money for Vasco. I had to get it from the bank, and while I was there it occurred to me to put the other papers I had forced from Sampayo in safe custody. I sealed them up and left them in the bank’s custody, with instructions that the packet was not to be given to any one—only to myself in person.
This precaution started another line of thought. Sampayo was at bay, utterly desperate, fighting for all he cared for in life, and I must reckon with that and be on my guard.