"If needful, I believe I could prove all this, though it would require strong pressure to make my informant speak," she concluded. "You must see what it implies?"
"That my son is a coward and gave the shameful order?" Challoner's eyes glittered, though his face was colourless. "It's unthinkable!"
"Nevertheless it's true. Why did he, without permission and abusing his authority over the guard, spend two hours late at night with Blake who was under arrest? What had they to say that took so long, when there was a risk of Captain Challoner's being discovered? Why did Blake make no defence, unless it was because he knew that to clear himself would throw the blame upon his friend?"
"You press me hard," said Challoner in a hoarse voice. "But that my son should so have failed in his duty to his country and his cousin is impossible."
"Yet you were willing to believe your nephew guilty. Had you any cause to doubt his courage?"
"No," said Challoner. "I used to think he loved a risk."
He felt beaten by her remorseless reasoning; there was scarcely a point he could contest and his heart grew very heavy. A conviction that humbled him to the dust was being forced on him.
"There is only one conclusion," Mrs. Chudleigh resumed. "The order to retreat was given by the weaker man, Bertram Challoner."
He turned to her with a gesture that begged her to desist. "My dear lady, this is very painful. I must try to think it out calmly, and I am not able now."
For a time there was strained silence, and Mrs. Chudleigh waited until he roused himself.