"There is no conspiracy," protested Bocaros. "I merely wished to get back my own."
"Ah, you look upon the ten thousand a year as your own," said Arnold; "may I ask how you make that out?"
"Flora left the money to me."
"She did, and changed her mind. How did you induce her to make a will in your favour?"
"It was her own good heart."
"Rubbish!" said Arnold roughly; "if you tell lies, professor, I won't help you. Come--the truth now."
Bocaros meditated. He wanted money badly, and if he went abroad--and Calvert had the power to force him to take such a course--he would certainly starve. The school, small as the salary was, kept him alive; but even this slender means of subsistence would be taken from him should he be banished from England. And by the stern faces of the two men, he saw very well that he would be judged with justice. He therefore made up his mind to earn the money by telling the truth. Anything was better than starvation, even loss of dignity. But for all that, and although he was fallen from his high estate, Bocaros kept up a dignified appearance, and spoke in his best style.
"I met my cousin, as I told you before," he said, "and I frequently went to see her."
"Why did you say you only paid three visits?" asked Calvert.
"For obvious reasons," said Tracey; "he wanted to keep his cards under the table."