"Sir, by what right do you dare to enter my house by force, and against my command? I will not speak with you or know your business. I will have no communication with you."
"Then your son will be hanged!" Mr. Benjamin said, with unaccustomed bluntness.
Mrs. Martival trembled, and sank into a chair. Mr. Benjamin followed up his advantage.
"I am not from the police. I have no connection with them. On the other hand, I am considerably interested in saving your son, and I tell you that I can put into your hands the means of doing so. Now, will you listen to me?"
Something in Mrs. Martival's face checked him. The features had suddenly become rigid, and an ashy pallor had stolen over them. Nicolette, who had been lingering in the room, suddenly threw herself on her knees beside her mistress's side, and caught hold of her hands.
"Oh, the wretch!" she cried, "the miserable wretch; he has killed my mistress!"
He stood helplessly by while she ran backwards and forwards with cold water, smelling salts, and other restoratives, keeping up all the while a running fire of scathing comments upon his heartless conduct, of which, needless to say, he understood not a single word. Beneath his breath he cursed this unlucky fainting fit. He had already lost a day on the way, and the time was short. What if she were to be ill—too ill to be moved! The very thought made him restless and uneasy.
In the midst of the confusion Mrs. Martival's housekeeper returned from her marketing in the little town, and to his relief he found that she understood English. He interrupted Nicolette's shrill torrents of abuse against him, and briefly explained the situation.
"I do not wish to force myself upon her," he said. "I do not wish to be troublesome in any way. But when she is conscious, I want you just to show her half a dozen words which I will write on the back of a card. If, when she has read them, she still wishes me to go, I will do so without attempting to see her again."
The woman nodded.