“You know this man, Mr. Donnington?” asked d’Olliveira.
“Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting him at the house of the Marquis de Pinsara. Good evening, Dr. Barosa;” and I rose and would have shaken hands with him had not the police prevented me.
“Did you see him in Rua Catania?” asked the magistrate.
“I have told you I met him elsewhere. That is my answer.”
“I am obliged to you, Mr. Donnington,” said Barosa, “but unfortunately no good purpose can be gained by your keeping silent about anything you know. You can only compromise yourself; and as everything is now known to these people, I release you from the pledge of secrecy you gave.”
“Ah,” broke in d’Olliveira, gloatingly.
“To the devil with you and your grunts of satisfaction,” I cried hotly, turning on him. “If you want to bribe or frighten information out of people, do it with carrion like that young brute at your side. Don’t try it with Englishmen.”
“How dare you use that tone to me, sir?” he exclaimed, getting up.
Barosa interposed. “I beg you not to compromise yourself further. It may lead you into a very false position and can do no good either to me or to the Contesse Inglesia. It is known quite well that you were present in the——”
“That’s enough, doctor. If you like to tell these people what they want to know, it’s your affair not mine. As for my part, I have friends quite influential enough not only to protect me, but to make it unpleasant for this hectoring gentleman here. I am sorry to see you in this mess.”