"Don't be too disrespectful to experts yet, my lady. I have a notion that a report I have just received from an American expert may give you food for thought. After all, if you hadn't been afraid of these experts you wouldn't have written that second letter three days ago."
She glared at him. "Well, what does your Yankee say?" she asked.
"He has proved conclusively that I could not have written the letter."
At that she jumped up from her seat, still keeping herself between the writing-table and him. "What do you mean?" she said.
Collingwood dealt his trump card. "I mean," he said, "that since you have finished writing your own letters, you will have no objection to my writing there for a moment."
His voice was so pregnant with meaning, so fraught with decision, that Alice Attwill slunk away from the table, trembling, as Collingwood seated himself in the writing-chair.
"Writing what?" she asked almost in a whisper.
"A confession——" he said.
"A confession?"
"—Which you will sign. I intend before I leave this room to have from you a signed confession that you wrote that letter."