‘I won’t ask more,’ he said, ‘if you’ll tell me who you are. That’s fair on both sides, eh?’
‘My name is Mrs. Williamson.’
‘Oh? And might it ‘appen that Mr. Rodman calls himself Mr. Williamson when it suits him?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘Tell me who it is you call Mrs. Rodman.’
‘I don’t call her so. That’s her married name. She’s my sister.’
The door opened. Both turned their heads and saw Rodman. He had come back for a letter he had forgotten to take with him to post At a glance he saw everything, including the half-crown on the table, which ‘Arry instantly seized. He walked forward, throwing a murderous look at Clara as he passed her. Then he said to ‘Arry, in a perfectly calm voice—
‘There’s the door.’
‘I see there is,’ the other replied, grinning. ‘Good-mornin’, Mr. Rodman Williamson.’
Husband and wife faced each other as soon as the front door slammed. Clara was a tigress; she could not be terrified as Alice might have been by scowls and savage threats. Rodman knew it, and knew, moreover, that his position was more perilous than any he had been in for a long time.
‘What do you know?’ he asked quietly.