My faculties were rapidly returning to me, yet I stood as one in a dream.
"You say, Mr. Justin Blake, that you do not know where Kaffar is, yet you hold in your hand his knife, which is red with blood. Here is his scarf, which has evidently been strained, and on it are spots of blood, while all around are marks indicating a struggle. I say you do know what this means, and you must tell us."
I reeled under this terrible shock. What had I done? Could it be that I had murdered this man? Had I? Had I?
"I do not know what it means," I said. "I think I am ill."
"Men usually are when they have done what you have," he said.
"Why, what have I done?" I said, in a dazed kind of a way. "Done!" he repeated. "You know best about that, in spite of the part you play. Nevertheless, Kaffar has not gone without leaving a friend behind him, and you will have to show how you came by that"—pointing to the knife, which I had dropped with a shudder; "this"—holding up the neckcloth; "you must explain these marks"—pointing to footmarks near the water's edge; "besides which, you will have to produce my friend."
A terrible thought flashed into my mind. I had again been acting under the influence of this man's power. By some means he had made me the slave of his will, and I had unknowingly killed Kaffar, and he, like the fiend he was, had come to sweep me out of his road. Perchance, too, Kaffar's death might serve him in good stead. Undoubtedly the Egyptian knew too much for Voltaire, and so I was made a tool whereby he could be freed from troublesome obstacles. The idea maddened me. I would proclaim the story to every one. If I were hanged I cared not. I opened my mouth to tell Tom the whole truth, but I could not utter a word. My tongue refused to articulate; my power of speech left me.
My position was too terrible. My overwrought nerves yielded at last. I felt my head whirling around, while streams of icy water seemed to be running down my legs. Then I fell down at Tom Temple's feet.
For some time after that I remembered nothing distinctly. I have some idea of stumbling along, with Tom on one side of me and Voltaire on the other, but no word was spoken until we came to Temple Hall. Then I heard Tom say—
"He's better now. You go into the drawing-room as if nothing had happened, and I'll take him quietly up-stairs to bed."