“You’re right, you can’t. Well, go on—what more?”
“She came into this money; my proposal no longer tempted her. She then refused me, even though I told her that the past—her past—would be forgotten, that I would never refer to it.”
“What past?” Hugh shouted.
“Hers and yours,” Slotman said boldly. “A supposed marriage that never took place, her sudden disappearance from her school in June, nineteen hundred and eighteen, when that marriage was supposed to have been celebrated—but never was. Her story of leaving England for Australia—an obvious lie, Mr. Alston. All those things I knew. All those things I can prove—against her—and against you—and—and—” Slotman’s voice quivered. He leaped to his feet and uttered a shout for help.
The blood-red mist was before Hugh’s eyes, and out of that mist appeared a vision of a face, an unpleasant face, with starting eyes and gaping mouth.
This he saw, and then his vision cleared, and with a shudder he released his hold on the man’s throat, and Philip Slotman subsided limply into his chair.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE WATCHER
Helen Everard’s pleasant face was beaming. Her smile expressed complete contentment and satisfaction, for everything was going as everything should go. Johnny was an accepted lover, Joan’s future would be protected; she herself would be left free to make her long journey to the dear ones at the other side of the world. All was well!
Joan had been to London yesterday, had rushed off with scarcely a word, and had returned at night, tired and seemingly dispirited.