"It's true, sir," said Varbarriere.
"Now, sir, I'll not interrupt you—tell all, pray—hide nothing," said the General.
"I was, sir, accidentally witness to a conversation which is capable of no other interpretation; and I have legal proof of the existence of a secret door, connecting the apartment which has been assigned to you, at Marlowe, with Sir Jekyl's room."
"The damned villain! What a fool," and then very fiercely he suddenly added, "You can prove all this, sir? I hope you can."
"All this, and more, sir. I suspect, sir, there will hardly be an attempt to deny it."
"Oh, sir, it's terrible; but I was such a fool. I had no business—I deserve it all. Who'd have imagined such villains? But, d—— me, sir, I can't believe it."
There was a tone of anguish in the old man's voice which made even his grotesque and feeble talk terrible.
"I say there can't be such devils on earth;" and then he broke into an incoherent story of all his trust and love, and all that Jane owed him, and of her nature which was frank and generous, and how she never hid a thought from him—open as heaven, sir. What business was it of his, d—— him! What did he mean by trying to set a man against his wife? No one but a scoundrel ever did it.
Varbarriere stood erect.
"You may submit how you like, sir, to your fate; but you shan't insult me, sir, without answering it. My note left it optional to you to exact my information or to remain in the darkness, which it seems you prefer. If you wish it, I'll make my bow—it's nothing to me, but two can play at that game. I've fought perhaps oftener than you, and you shan't bully me."