"Mary!" he whispered, "what is your other name?"
With an effort the girl recovered herself.
"My name is not Mary," she said quietly. "My name is Oliva Cresswell."
"Oliva Cresswell," he repeated. "Oliva Cresswell!"
He made a movement toward her but van Heerden barred his way. She heard Jackson say something in a strangled voice and heard van Heerden's sharp "What!" and there was a fierce exchange of words.
The attention of the few people in the palm-court had been attracted to the unusual spectacle of two men engaged in what appeared to be a struggle.
"Sit down, sit down, you fool! Sit over there. I will come to you in a minute. Can you swear what you say is true?"
Jackson nodded. He was shaking from head to foot.
"My name is Prédeaux," he said; "that is my daughter—I married in the name of Cresswell. My daughter," he repeated. "How wonderful!"
"What are you going to do?" asked van Heerden.