"I am as poor as yourself," Balmayne contrived to say.
"Ah! That is good hearing. You came here tonight expecting to see Ghetti. But we took the liberty of using Ghetti's name. It is only by the merest accident that I am here tonight to carry out this work. My good friends here would have done it for me otherwise. But I was fortunate enough to escape from the gaol yonder, and here I am."
Balmayne glanced miserably about him. He was not listening at all. He was calculating the chances of escape, of the fate that lay before him. Had this thing taken place in Corsica he would have been in no doubt for a moment. All these men were joined together by blood ties or something of that kind, and insult to one was an insult to another.
They had lured him there, and he had come with his eyes open. He cursed his folly. But then he had been hiding, and his money was gone. It seemed like a wonderful slice of luck to find Ghetti in London. And behold there was no Ghetti at all, only this trap and the knowledge that his time was come.
"Well?" Lalage burst out, furiously. "Why don't you speak; what have you got to say before I put the knife into your heart?"
[CHAPTER LIII.]
FACE TO FACE.
Balmayne grovelled helplessly. There were tears in his eyes. The man could plot and intrigue, he could make the weapons for others, but he had no heart for them himself. He was an abject coward without feeling for anyone but himself. He would have left his nearest to starve or die without a prick of conscience, but he was nervous for himself. And he read his sentence in Lalage's eyes.
"Get up!" the latter cried. "Why do you grovel there? Faugh! you sicken me. Is there no spark of manhood in you at all? You are going to die."