“That is what I know, Mr. Elphick, and if I choose, all the world shall know it tomorrow morning!” he said firmly. “Ronald Breton is the son of the murdered man, and Ronald Breton is engaged to be married to the daughter of the man charged with the murder. Do you hear that? It is not matter of suspicion, or of idea, or of conjecture, it is fact—fact!”
Mr. Elphick slowly turned his face to Miss Baylis. He gasped out a few words.
“You—did—not—tell—me—this!”
Then Spargo, turning to the woman, saw that she, too, was white to the lips and as frightened as the man.
“I—didn’t know!” she muttered. “He didn’t tell me. He only told me this morning what—what I’ve told you.”
Spargo picked up his hat.
“Good-night, Mr. Elphick,” he said.
But before he could reach the door the old barrister had leapt from his chair and seized him with trembling hands. Spargo turned and looked at him. He knew then that for some reason or other he had given Mr. Septimus Elphick a thoroughly bad fright.
“Well?” he growled.
“My dear young gentleman!” implored Mr. Elphick. “Don’t go! I’ll—I’ll do anything for you if you won’t go away to print that. I’ll—I’ll give you a thousand pounds!”