"Calm yourself, Valdriguez," he said at last. "If you can convince me that his Lordship had in his possession something which rightfully belonged to you, I promise that, if it can be found, it shall be restored to you. Tell me, what it is that you are looking for?"
"Tell you—never! Are you not of his blood? You promise—so did he—the smooth-tongued villain! All these years have I lived on promises! Never will I trust one of his race again."
"You have got to trust me whether you want to or not. Your position could not be worse than it is, could it? Don't you see that your only hope lies in being able to persuade me that you are an honest woman?"
For the first time Valdriguez looked at Cyril attentively. He felt as if her great eyes were probing his very soul.
"Indeed, you do not look cruel or deceitful. And, as you say, I am powerless without you, so I must take the risk of your being what you seem. I will tell you the truth. But first, my lord, will you swear not to betray my secret to any living being?"
"You have my word for it. That is—" he hastily added, "if it has nothing to do with the murder."
"Nothing, my lord."