"But he assures me he is quite well."
There was another silence; and again Wyant broke in, this time with a slight laugh. "I can explain what Mrs. Amherst means; she intends to accuse me of the morphine habit. And I can explain her reason for doing so—she wants me out of the way."
Amherst turned on the speaker; and, as she had foreseen, his look was terrible. "You haven't explained that yet," he said.
"Well—I can." Wyant waited another moment. "I know too much about her," he declared.
There was a low exclamation from Justine, and Amherst strode toward Wyant. "You infernal blackguard!" he cried.
"Oh, gently——" Wyant muttered, flinching back from his outstretched arm.
"My wife's wish is sufficient. Give me back that letter."
Wyant straightened himself. "No, by God, I won't!" he retorted furiously. "I didn't ask you for it till you offered to help me; but I won't let it be taken back without a word, like a thief that you'd caught with your umbrella. If your wife won't explain I will. She's, afraid I'll talk about what happened at Lynbrook."
Amherst's arm fell to his side. "At Lynbrook?"
Behind him there was a sound of inarticulate appeal—but he took no notice.