Monsieur Judas resumed his seat in a conscious manner, as if he expected a round of applause for his very dramatic delivery of his villainous narrative. If he did expect praise he was disappointed, for a chorus of execration burst from the four men who had listened so patiently to this infamous history.
"You scoundrel!"
"Fiend!"
"Wretch!"
"Blackguard!"
Judas was not at all dismayed, but shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Eh, messieurs les Tartuffes, I make you the compliments. If you had been as me, acted the same you would have, I think. But all I have told, and now will the dear Spolger tell us of the pills which he gave to the angel?"
"I did not give her pills, you wicked wretch," said Spolger, vehemently. "I was as much in the dark as you about the cause of Melstane's death. The whole affair has been a great blow to me. I do not know when my nerves will recover."
"Will you tell us your story, Mr. Spolger?" said Fanks, politely.
"Certainly; if only to disabuse your mind of the suspicions put into it by that infernal scoundrel there."