“Then you admit that you are not Jack Chilcote?”
“I neither deny nor admit. My identity is obvious. I can get twenty men to swear to it at any moment that you like. The fact that I haven't worn rings till now will scarcely interest them.”
“But you do admit—to me, that you are not Jack?”
“I deny nothing—and admit nothing. I still offer my congratulations.”
“Upon what?”
“The same possession—your imagination.”
Lillian stamped her foot. Then, by a quick effort, she conquered her temper. “Prove me to be wrong!” she said, with a fresh touch of excitement. “Take off your rings and let me see your hand.”
With a deliberate gesture Loder put his hand behind his back. “I never gratify childish curiosity,” he said, with another smile.
Again a flash of temper crossed her eyes. “Are you sure,” she said, “that it's quite wise to talk like that?”
Loder laughed again. “Is that a threat?”