She turned, and found herself face to face with her husband.
"Jack," she asked nervously, "do you know where Dawks is? I suppose you have heard——"
"Yes, I have heard."
Daphne shrank back at the sound of his voice. His face was like flint.
"Then—where is he?" she faltered. "Windebank said——"
"I had him shot."
Daphne stared at him incredulously.
"You had him shot?" she said slowly. "My Dawks?"
"Yes. It was rank cruelty on your part keeping the poor brute alive, after—after reducing him to that state."
The last half of the sentence may have been natural and justifiable, but no one could call it generous. It is not easy to be merciful when one is at white heat.