"Not a word," said his master, "not a cry. Just answer that question. Do you wish to be made sure of this man's atrocious guilt and your own folly?"
"I want to know what is the meaning of this," Everard sputtered, "this violence? In my own house, in broad day, like a burglar."
"Answer the question."
Alarm began to steal over Everard, who was by no means a brave man. Had Arthur Dillon, always a strange fellow, gone mad? Or was this scene a hint of murder? The desperate societies to which Dillon was said to belong often indulged in violence. It had never occurred to him before that these secret forces must be fighting Livingstone through Dillon. They would never permit him to use his influence at Washington in the Minister's behalf. Dreadful! He must dissemble.
"If you can make me sure, I am willing," he said meekly.
"Read that, then," and Arthur placed his winning card, as he thought, in his hands; the private confession of Sister Claire as to the persons who had assisted her in her outrageous schemes; and the chief, of course, was Livingstone. Everard read it with contempt.
"Legally you know what her testimony is worth," said he.
"You accepted her testimony as to her own frauds, and so did the whole committee."
"We had to accept the evidence of our own senses."
Obstinate to the last was Everard.