“Matter enough,” Hurd declared wildly. “I have been a fool and a blackguard. Those two got round me—the old man and his cursed step-son! I must have been mad!”
“What have you done?” Macheson asked sharply.
“She treated me badly,” Hurd continued, “made a fool of me before you, and turned me away from Thorpe. I wanted to cry quits with her, and those two got hold of me. Jean le Roi is her husband. She refused to see him—to hear from him. Letty Foulton is there, and I have been allowed to visit her. I knew the back way in, and I took Jean le Roi there—an hour ago—and he is waiting in her room until she comes home!”
“Good God!” Macheson murmured. “You unspeakable blackguard!”
He glanced at the clock. It was past midnight.
“What time was she expected home?” he demanded.
“Soon after eleven! She was only dining out. He—he swore that he only wanted to talk to her, to threaten her with exposure. She deserved that! But he is a madman. When I left him I was afraid. He carries a knife always, and he kept on saying that she was his wife. I left him there waiting—and when I wanted him to promise that there should be no violence, he laughed at me. He is hidden in her room. I thought that it was only money he wanted—but—but——”
Macheson flung him on one side. He caught up his hat and rushed out of the club.