“Whew!” whistled the lawyer again. “And you have told him this?” he inquired aloud of Miss Kingscott. “A fiend of a woman!” he muttered, aside to the doctor.
“Of course I have!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “Who had a better right than I to beard him at last? Have I not waited long enough, and tracked him all these months to have only that satisfaction? But it is come at last! I shall see him hanged, and then I shall be happy; my vengeance will be complete!”
“God bless my soul!” murmured the doctor, in a tone of warm congratulation to himself. “Bless my soul—that she did not catch me! Why, she’s a regular devil! Worse than twenty dowagers!”
The lawyer, meanwhile, was interrogating Miss Kingscott calmly, without apparently noticing her excitement. He had a wonderful sedative presently wherewith to cool this excitement down.
“And where is Markworth now?” he asked.
“He is where I’ve just left him, I believe. He was arrested this morning for a debt he owed to a Jew named Solomonson, who had advanced him money for carrying on that suit. He is locked up in a place somewhere in Chancery lane.”
“Oh! yes; I know,” said Mr Trump, interrupting her; “Abednego’s, is it not?”
“Yes, that’s the name,” answered the governess.
“Hum-m!” ejaculated Mr Trump, musingly. “And you are going to bring this charge of murder against him, eh?”
“I am!” she answered, sternly.