"If he were dead," he said, "and if it were my hand which had removed him, I should count it amongst the best actions of my life."
She looked at him curiously—as one might regard a wild beast.
"You can speak like this before his son?"
"I veil my words at no time and for no man," he answered. "The truth is always best."
Then the door opened, and Blenavon entered. His arm and head were bandaged, and he walked with a limp. He was deathly pale, and apparently very nervous. He attempted a casual greeting with Ray, but it was a poor pretence. Ray, for his part, had evidently no mind to beat about the bush.
"Lord Blenavon," he said, "this house is no fit place for your father's son. I have warned you before, but the time for advice is past. Your hostess here is a creature of the French police, and her business here is to suborn you and others whom she can buy or cajole into a treasonable breach of confidence. It is very possible that you know all this, and more. But I appeal to you as an Englishman and the representative of a great English family. Are you willing to leave at once with us and to depart altogether from this part of the country, or will you face the consequences?"
Blenavon was a coward. He shook and stammered. He was not even master of his voice.
"I do not understand you," he faltered. "You have no right to speak to me like this."
"Right or no right, I do," Ray answered. "If you refuse I shall not spare you. Last night was only one incident of many. I break my faith as a soldier by giving you this opportunity. Will you come?"
"I am waiting now for a carriage," Blenavon answered. "I have sent to the house for one."