“I loved him!” he cried. “That is why. For his honor, for the honor of our family, I am making this request of you. Believe me, it is not easy. I can tell you no more than that. You knew my brother?”
“Slightly.”
“Then, for his sake—do this thing I ask.”
“But—murder—”
“You heard the sounds of a struggle. I shall say that we quarreled—that I struck in self-defense.” He turned to his father. “It will mean only a few years in prison—I can bear that!” he cried. “For the honor of our name!”
The old man groaned, but did not raise his head. The boy walked back and forth over my faded carpet like a lion caged. I stood wondering what answer I should make.
“I know what you are thinking,” said the lieutenant. “You can not credit your ears. But you have heard correctly. And now—as you might put it—it is up to you. I have been in your country.” He smiled pitifully. “I think I know you Americans. You are not the sort to refuse a man when he is sore beset—as I am.”
I looked from him to the general and back again.
“I must think this over,” I answered, my mind going at once to Colonel Hughes. “Later—say to-morrow—you shall have my decision.”
“To-morrow,” said the boy, “we shall both be called before Inspector Bray. I shall know your answer then—and I hope with all my heart it will be yes.”