“That Mademoiselle Dominguez and her brother were forced into this affair by you and that she was never aware of the nature of the communications she received from Dagara.”
“I will write it,” he said at once. “Here is the key of the door;” and he threw the key to me as he crossed to a table and sat down to write.
I drew a breath of relief. I had won more easily than I had anticipated. Whatever his intentions had been at the outset of the interview, he had apparently abandoned them on learning that to do anything to me would not avert discovery or save his companions.
He found some difficulty in wording the paper and tore up a couple of sheets with an exclamation of impatience. Several minutes were spent in this way.
When he had finished the writing he handed it to me. “Will that do?”
I read it carefully. It was almost in the words I had used, and I folded it up and put it in my pocket, well satisfied that, should any emergency arise requiring its use, it would prove a sufficient confirmation of the story I had to tell.
“I am satisfied,” I said.
“You will leave Lisbon at once, Mr. Donnington, and will keep absolutely silent as to all that has occurred?”
“Yes, unless circumstances arise in which I am compelled to use this document on Mademoiselle Dominguez’ behalf.”
“I quite understand that, and can accept your word absolutely,” he replied. As I went toward the door, he added: “You will pardon the means I adopted to secure this interview, and will understand how vital it was that I should know the position precisely?”