Spenser Churchill shrank back from the window.
“Indeed! On what charge, pray?”
“Conspiracy, and robbery from the dead!” and he pointed to the papers which had been stolen from Jeffrey Flint’s body.
Spenser Churchill’s face grew white, but he forced a laugh.
“Conspiracy, eh? The other is nonsense, utter nonsense! Who’s to prove—ahem! But, conspiracy? With whom? With Mr. Percy Levant?”
“With Mr. Percy Levant,” repeated Percy, grimly. “Your fellow criminal! One step, one cry for assistance, and he arrests us both.”
Spenser Churchill clutched the curtain.
“You—you—traitor!” he gasped.
Percy Levant turned to Lord Cecil.
“I have simply stated the truth, my lord. A detective is waiting outside. It rests with you; it is for you to decide whether you will charge us. One thing remains for me to do.”