‘You fool!’ gasped Egerton, in a husky voice. ‘You know it isn’t true. You know he was killed in a drunken row. You were there. Besides, his death was duly certified——’
‘By Birnie!’ answered Marston. ‘A pretty certificate!’
‘Good enough, at any rate, to silence such an accusation as you make,’ answered Gurth, more calmly.
He was beginning to recover his composure. He was shrewd enough to see that there was nothing in Marston’s threat after all, and that he dare hardly use such a weapon lest he should injure himself.
A moment’s reflection showed Marston that the threat was an empty one. He would try another arrow in the dark.
‘You are prepared to meet that accusation, are you?’ he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, and watching the effect of his words. ‘Very well, then, to make sure I’ll back it with another. Let me find you at Adrians’—let me hear that you have shown your false face there again, or spoken to Ruth one single word wherever you may chance to meet her—and I’ll sweep the fortune you have done so much to gain from your clutch at a blow.’
This time Gurth laughed bravely. He began to have an idea that Marston was merely shooting at random in the hope of hitting once.
‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘Charge me with attempted regicide, or with plotting the destruction of the British Museum?’
‘I shall charge you with nothing,’ answered Marston, quietly. ‘I shall set up another claimant to the property.’
Without stopping to explain—without waiting to watch the effect on Gurth—Marston turned on his heel, and went out of the door.