The stranger rose too, and faced Tor with sparkling eyes.
‘Will you give me your word of honour that you are not doing him a great wrong?’
‘I will,’ answered Tor firmly; and he held his head proudly, as one who knows that he speaks the truth. ‘I give you my word of honour, as an Englishman and as a gentleman, that I have never wronged my friend even in thought. I would cut off my right hand sooner than commit a single act dishonourable to our old friendship!’
The Italian’s face softened somewhat, and he sat down again with what sounded like a sigh.
‘Signor,’ he said, with a slight bow, ‘I accept your word. I must accept such an asseveration as that. I have been taught to believe in an Englishman’s word, and I will try to do so.’
‘I am obliged by your concession, Signor. It is not a pleasant thing to be doubted or suspected, however innocent one may be in reality. And now that you have done me the honour to believe me, I will point out to you how impossible your theory of imposture must be. If things were as you would have implied, why should Philip Debenham permit such a substitution of names and places? If I were an impostor, surely the true man would come forward and claim his own.’
Signor Pagliadini shot a quick look at him, and said:
‘Undoubtedly so—if he could.’
‘What do you mean, Signor?’
‘I understood your friend was ill.’