"Vanbrugh," said John in an insinuating tone, "you used to be fond of my wife. You wanted to marry her."
"What has that to do with it?" asked Vanbrugh turning sharply upon him.
"You may marry her and welcome, if you let me get through that door. I shall never be heard of again."
"You infernal scoundrel!" Vanbrugh was thoroughly disgusted. "Now gentlemen," he said, turning to the officer in charge, "I will bring Mr. Darche here to see his son. I am sure that for the old gentleman's sake, out of mere humanity, you will do the best you can to keep up the illusion we have arranged. He is old and his mind wanders. He will scarcely notice your presence."
"Yes, sir," the man answered. "You may trust us to do that, sir. Now then, boys," he said, addressing his two companions, "straighten up, best company manners, stiff upper lip—keep your eye on the young man. He is rather too near that door for my taste."
John Darche's face expressed humiliation and something almost approaching to despair. He was about to make another attempt, and had moved a step towards Vanbrugh, when he suddenly started a little and stood still. Marion stood in the open door beyond three detectives. She touched one of them on the shoulder as a sign that she wished to pass.
"Pardon me, lady," said the man, drawing back. "Anything that we can do for you?"
"I am Mrs. Darche. I wish to speak to my husband."
"Certainly, madam," and all three made way for her.
She went straight to her husband, and stood before him at the other end of the room, speaking in a low voice.