'I don't ask any one to accept my words without proof,' said Jack Carbis. 'Proof will not be wanting. You say that Maurice St. Mabyn was killed in a skirmish, that you saw his dead body, and that you had no hand whatever in it?'
'I do say it,' cried Springfield hoarsely. 'I swear by Almighty God that your charges are venomous lies, and——'
But he did not finish the sentence. At that moment I heard the murmur of voices outside the room, the door opened, and a tall, bronzed but somewhat haggard-looking man entered the room.
'Maurice!'
It was George St. Mabyn who uttered the word, but it was not like his voice at all.
The new-comer gave a quick glance around the room, as though he wanted to take in the situation, then he took a quick step towards Lady Bolivick.
'Will you forgive me for coming in this way, Lady Bolivick?' he said quietly. 'But I could not help myself. I only got back an hour or two ago, and the servants were so upset that they lost their heads entirely. But they did manage to tell me that George was here, so I took the liberty of an old friend and——; but what's this? Is anything the matter? George, old man, why—why——' and he looked at George St. Mabyn and Norah Blackwater inquiringly.
But George St. Mabyn did not speak; instead, he stood staring at his brother with terror-stricken eyes.
'You thought I was dead, eh?' and there was a laugh in Maurice St.
Mabyn's voice. 'I'm worth a good many dead men yet.'
Again he looked around the room until his eyes rested upon Springfield, who had been watching his face from the moment of his entrance.