“Madame,” he said, “I salute you. You have withstood the first assault. I can afford to be magnanimous, for you will not survive the second.” And again the face turned deadly serious, though the look of restless violence was gone. It was impossible to believe that it had been feigned. It had not. But neither had it brought the desired result; and he was wise enough, now, to adopt a different course.
For he had no doubt that the woman was hiding something. The hard edge of his foil remained, but the strokes became finer, more mincing.
“A lesson for you, Stephen. Most women, indeed, almost all, can either be bought, or threatened into giving up what is wanted. Why? Because they lack the simple courage---to face life in the first case, and death in the second. They use money, and men, as a shield against life; and nothing on this earth can induce them to face death, or even the thought of death.
“I have heard it said that if women ruled the world, there would be no war. That is true, but hardly a compliment. The reason there would be no war is that none of them would have the courage to fight it. At the first shot they would all throw down their arms and run away. Deceit, manipulation, love. These are the weapons they employ.
“But as witnessed here, there are a few scattered instances of honest character, of a woman standing up to death. But almost always it is done in the defense of her immediate family: her husband, her child. That is what puzzles me here. Having threatened her own life unsuccessfully, I took the next step, as I taught you long ago: threaten the thing she is trying to protect, and mean it. But even this brought no result. Why? At such times one must draw back, look beneath the surface, examine motive.
“The implied motive here is to protect her niece alone, but I do not believe it. No woman is willing to die for the bastard child---oh yes, I know!
---of her sister-in-law, and a man she both fears and detests. Perhaps she raised her from a child? Still not enough. We must look for some deeper relationship.
“Did you see, when she thought I meant to kill her, the way she hung her head, and reached down into some secret place she believes I cannot touch? Whose image did she turn to in her moment of need? For I tell you, Stephen, she was prepared to die. And it wasn’t for any half-breed girl.”
He took a sheet of folded parchment from an inner pocket, and settling more deeply in the chair, smoothed it open against his thigh. “I have here a list, names and numbers. It was brought to me yesterday, along with more detailed information, concerning the prisoners still at large---thankfully, very few. I think you will find our information quite thorough and up to date. Now I know not only the men who hail from this country---and are therefore likely to return---but also the friends they kept in the stockade, and the smaller groups they split into after the escape.
“You heard me tell my Lieutenant to brand the number 406 on our dead comrade’s body---though I warn you, I may still use it to incriminate your niece. Why that particular number? I will tell you. It is the number of one of the men decidedly traced to this area: the companion, protector, and...could it be...the cousin of our heroic James Talbert? Are we coming nearer the mark, Mrs. Scott? You look quiet pale; would you like to sit down?”