"As gospel, between ourselves. To the world it is a lie."
"I bet you can't prove 'tis so," sneered the sailor.
"Proof is not required. Denial is."
"Not when I'm in th' witness-box."
"Not when you're in the dock, you mean, my good man."
Her visitor grew purple. "Me--in th' dock!" he thundered.
"Lower your voice, please, or I shall order my servants to turn you out. Yes--in the dock, your natural place. This conspiracy of yours."
"Engineered for your little game, mind," he gasped.
"Not at all. I have nothing to do with it;" her hard eyes held him as he blankly considered her astonishing impudence. "You tell me that Dr. Demetrius buried a man at Funchal in place of Mr. Garth, and then, when Mr. Garth died on board your ship, sent home his body as that of my husband. As Mr. Garth and my husband resembled one another closely, I can see how I and the family were mistaken when we beheld the substituted corpse. But I do not understand why my husband should have consented to this, no more than I understand how you dare accuse me of conspiring."
"But I do, you bet, ma'am. You played low down on a company."