"Who am I?" Slaughter answered, speaking in a low, strained tone that was even more penetrating than his former shout. "Who am I?"
"Yes, yes," she exclaimed nervously. "Who are you? What right have you here? I don't know you, man."
A laugh, mirthless, cold, and full of devilish satire, came from his lips.
"You look me in the face and ask that question?" he said. "You——"
Ailleen, looking from one to the other in wondering surprise, caught at Slaughter's words.
"She's blind," she said hurriedly. "You must be mistaken. Mrs. Dickson is quite blind."
"Begging your pardon, miss," he said, as he turned towards her, "I forgot you were there for the moment; but maybe it's as well that you are. There's no mistake on my part."
He spoke with a calm self-possession that was in great contrast to the fury of his first exclamation, and in great contrast to the agitation of the blind woman.
"I don't know you—I don't know you," she went on repeating. "Go away. You have no right here."
"Then if you don't know me, maybe it'll be as well if I just say who you are to this young lady here," he said, with unmoved demeanour. "It may interest her to know, and you'll maybe place me when you hear all I know."