“I can’t!” he cried huskily. “Dear Una, don’t ask me! Won’t you trust me, without? Won’t you believe me when I tell you, I never did it?”
“No, I can’t,” I answered with sullen resolution, though my eyes belied my words. “I can’t disbelieve the evidence of my own senses. I SAW you escape that night. I see you still. I’ve seen you for years. I KNOW it was you, and you only, who did it!”
He flung himself down in a chair, and let his arms drop listlessly.
“Oh! what can I ever do to disillusion you?” he cried in despair. “Oh! what can I ever do? This is too, too terrible!”
I moved towards the door.
“I’m going,” I said, with a gulp. “You’ve deceived me, Jack. You’ve lied to me. You have given me feigned names. You have decoyed me to your house under false pretences. And I recognise you now. I know you in all your baseness. You’re my father’s murderer! Don’t hope to escape by playing on my feelings. I’d deserve to be murdered myself, if I could act like that! I’m on my way to the police-office, to give you in custody on the charge of murdering Vivian Callingham at Woodbury!”
He jumped up again, all anxiety.
“Oh, no, you mustn’t walk!” he cried, laying his hand upon my arm. “Give me up, if you like; but wait till the buggy comes back, and Elsie’ll drive you round with me. You’re not fit to go a step as you are at present... Oh! what shall I ever do, though. You’re so weak and ill. Elsie’ll never allow it.”
“Elsie’ll never allow WHAT?” I asked; though I felt it was rather more grotesque than undignified and inconsistent thus to parley and make terms with my father’s murderer. Though, to be sure, it was Jack, and I couldn’t bear to refuse him.
He kept his hand on my arm with an air of authority.