But Audrey was not to be cowed, not to be forced into retracting a word, now that she had once strung herself up to the point of open accusation. Clasping her hands tightly together, and conscious, with a fierce feeling of resentment and despair, that all these men were as fools and children in the hands of this clever scoundrel who had made a tool of herself, she made no reply to this, but, after a moment’s pause, went on doggedly:—
“Then there is a man who calls himself Johnson. There have been complaints of him.”
“When?” asked Mr. Candover sharply.
“Only two nights ago.”
“And will you tell us where these accusations were made, and by whom?” he went on with the same provocative calmness.
“They were made—the disturbance arose—about four o’clock in the morning, when cards were being played in the billiard-room at ‘The Briars,’ and they were made by more than one man.”
“Were you present, Madame?”
“Not in the room. But I overheard the disturbance, and I challenge any of you who were there, you, Sir Barnaby, were one, and one of the young Angmerings was another—to deny that there was a disturbance, and that Johnson was accused of cheating.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Sir Barnaby said, in a tone of veiled insolence that cut her to the quick:—
“I am greatly distressed at having to speak to a woman—a lady—upon such a matter. I had admired your tact, Madame Rocada, in keeping out of all discussions and scenes of this sort. We have all understood and admired the way in which you conducted the premises and managed the business, unseen, but making your presence felt, and keeping up a high standard of decorum. I cannot but think you are very unwise to have forced us, as you are doing, into speaking out upon a subject which could very well have been disposed of without the painful necessity of dragging a lady into it.”