“But I don’t want the confounded interview,” he exclaimed angrily. “For goodness’ sake get along and say what you have to say and clear out. I haven’t forgotten the Enid.”
“No, that was illegal, wasn’t it? Almost as bad as breaking and entering, burglary and theft. But now, there’s no kind of sense in squabbling. Sit down and listen and I’ll tell you a story that will interest you in spite of yourself.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Cheyne said with sarcasm as he flung himself into a chair, “but if it’s going to be more lies about St. John Price and the Hull succession you may save your breath.”
Dangle smiled whimsically. “It was for your sake, Mr. Cheyne; perhaps not quite legitimate, but still done with the best intention. I told him that yarn—I admit, of course, it was a yarn—simply to make it easy for you to give up the letter. I knew that nothing would induce you to part with it if you thought it dishonorable; hence the story.”
Cheyne laughed harshly.
“And what will be the object of the new yarn?”
“This time it won’t be a yarn. I will tell you the truth.”
“And you expect me to believe it?”
Dangle leaned forward and spoke more earnestly.
“You will believe it, not, I’m afraid, because I tell it, but because it is capable of being checked. A great portion of it can be substantiated by inquiries at the Admiralty and elsewhere, and your reason will satisfy you as to the remainder.”