Challoner felt beaten by the man's remorseless reasoning; there was scarcely a point he could contest. A conviction that humbled him to the dust was being forced on him; but he would not let his rough visitor see him shrink as the truth seared him.
"I'll admit that you have told me a rather likely tale. As you don't speak of having been in India, may I ask who gave you the information?"
"Blake's companion, the man I've mentioned, a former Indian officer named Benson."
"His full name, please."
Clarke gave it to him, and Challoner, crossing the floor, took a book from a shelf and turned over the pages.
"Yes; he's here. What led him to talk of the thing to an outsider?"
"Drink. I'll confess to having taken advantage of the condition he was often in."
Challoner sat down and coolly lighted a cigar. His position seemed a weak one, but he had no thought of surrender.
"Well, you have given me some interesting information; but there's one thing you haven't mentioned, and that is your reason for doing so."
"Can't you guess?"