“To all intents and purposes, he accused me of the murder of Sir Piers Pelham.”
“Nonsense! He accused you! Why should he think any foul play had taken place? Impossible!”
“Nevertheless it is true. The man is an utter fool. I always thought him so, but I find there is a bit of the knave in him as well. He maintains that the child did not come by his death by ordinary means. He is moving heaven and earth in this cursed business. Clara, it is full time for us to be up and stirring.”
“What do you mean?”
She had risen from her chair, her thin hands worked convulsively, the rings on her fingers flashed.
“I hate all that finery,” said the man irritably. “I repeat, that your wearing it is bad form. Now listen to me. Pelham must be arrested in a fortnight for the murder of his cousin!”
“No, Luke, no, it cannot be.”
“It shall be, Clara.”
“I forbid it,” said the woman. “It is not in the bargain,” she continued. She brought out her words with almost a stutter—she was trembling so hard. “It is not in the bargain,” she repeated. “Six months was the bargain, six months after marriage. I for bid you to deal the blow a day before the time.”
“You must be mad, Clara. You must see for yourself that circumstances change. If I do not have Pelham arrested he will turn the tables on me. Oh, I know I am safe enough, but I cannot afford delay. Who would have thought that Pelham, a sleepy sort of fellow——”