“Curse you,” he yelled, as he started forward to reach his wife, but a strong hand on either arm stayed him. “This is your work.”
She shook her head slowly, and Julia darted to her side, for the firmness that had sustained her so far was failing fast.
“No,” she said slowly; “it is no work of mine.”
“Then I have to thank my dear friend the Baronet here,” he cried with a vindictive look at Sir Gordon.
“No, Hallam. I have known for months past that you have been living in wild excess on the money you stole from me, but I spared you for others’ sake.”
“Oh, I see, then,” cried Hallam, turning to Bayle; “it was you—you beggarly professor of—”
“Stay your reproaches,” cried Bayle sternly. “I could not have taken steps against you had I wished.”
“If it’ll make it easier for Mr Hallam to know who gave information again him,” said a voice at the door, “it was me.”
“Tom Porter!” cried Sir Gordon.
“Ay, ay, sir.”