His face was transformed. His voice rang with triumph—with the pride of victory.
"I came to myself. It was like waking from the dead. It was a long time before I recovered even a little of my strength. Every hand was against me—except my mother's. She stood by me. When she died, a year later, I inherited the whole of her fortune. The others tried to take it away from me, but I fought them. I had new uses for the money. I came over to this country, and began my work. For four years I have given myself and all I have. Go and see for yourself what I have done. Go and see the men, women, and children who would die for me. Go and hear them bless my name. Hear of the lives I have built—the light I have brought. I have filled up my credit side. I have a balance in hand in the Book of Life."
Inspector Fay remained silent. He was a severely practical man. Before his mind there was only the outcome of the interview. The young man controlled himself with an effort. His excitement passed. He was again quiet and composed.
"None of my old passions or inclinations remained—except my love for Thea. I couldn't crush it. I fought against it with all my strength. I struggled to stamp it out, but it was unconquerable. Her face was always in front of me, day and night. Her voice was always in my ears. I couldn't escape. I heard nothing more of her until about six weeks ago, when I saw a photograph of her in one of the papers under the name of Christine Manderson, with a statement that she had arrived in London to play at the Imperial Theater. The longing to see her again was too strong for me. Day after day I waited outside the stage-door of the theater—until she came, in all her fatal, maddening beauty. We stood facing each other ... and she passed me by without a word."
His voice broke. He pressed his thin hands together.
"The madness came over me again. The sight of her fanned all the old flames. I was on fire. I tried to follow her, but they kept me out. I wrote to her that night, telling her what I had done, how I had suffered, and begging, imploring her to let me see her. The answer was a curt note, in the third person, saying that she declined to receive any communication from me whatsoever."
Again he paused. The inspector made no comment.
"I found out where she was staying, what her plans were, and who were her friends. I discovered that she had come under the influence of George Copplestone, who is little better than I was once. The thought that she was to be the sport of his depravity drove me to frenzy. I neglected my work. I could do nothing. Then I heard that they were on the point of becoming engaged. The rest you know. I followed her to Copplestone's house. She had evidently warned him against me. I forced my way into the room, calling her by the name of Christine——"
"Why?" the inspector asked
"Because it was obvious that she would not wish the name of Thea Colville to be known to London. That is all I have to tell you."