Watkins made no reply. He was thinking it out—and he took his time. He had plenty of time. He knit his brows, and twisted his fingers.
For them—their yet lease of life to be counted, perhaps, in hours, and sick heart-beats now—waiting to know if he’d take their bait—the tension was almost too much. The woman lifted her head from the mantel, turned with her back to the fireplace, and with her hands nervously clasped, stood watching and listening. Her face was gray. Crespin crossed to beside her, and though she gave no sign, she was glad that he had. Dr. Traherne stood alert and outwardly patient. But he knew that his nerves were cracking, and his collar was cutting his neck. Crespin’s eyes were glazed with fear now, Traherne’s pinched and sharpened with it—but their fear was for the woman.
At last Watkins spoke. “If I was to ’elp you out,” he said very slowly, “there must be no more fairy-tales about any of you ’avin’ seen me in India.” He shuffled one foot as he said it, and a dull red light came in his shifty eyes.
“All right,” Dr. Traherne said promptly. “We accept your assurance that you never were there.”
But apparently Watkins was not satisfied yet, not ready to talk money terms. He wanted more first. If Watkins was playing a deep game with them, he was playing it skilfully, and scientifically too, the physician thought, as the valet continued:
“And see here, Dr. Traherne—you know very well I couldn’t stay here after I’d helped you to escape—least-ways, if I stayed, it’d be in my grave. You’ll ’ave to take me with you—and for that I can only have your word. Supposing you could get the message through, and the English was to come, no writing could bind you, if you chose to leave me in the lurch.”
“Quite true.” Traherne had to admit it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust us for that. But I give you my word of honor that we would be as careful of your safety as if you were one of ourselves—”
“Quite a ’appy family,” the man murmured insolently. But Traherne—he had himself well in hand, though it was costing him much—took no notice. “I suppose you know,” he concluded gravely, “that, strange as you may think it, there are people in the world that would rather die than break a solemn promise.”
“Even to a hound like you, Watkins,” Major Crespin added. Crespin’s patience was tattered—his fingers itched.