“I will tell you with few words, then, my unfortunate history,” Mrs. Clayton said, more calmly. “I was an English girl and lived in an outskirt of London. I was married when I was nineteen to a man I did not love, but who so had involved my father in financial difficulties that I became his wife in order to save my father from bankruptcy and dishonor.”
“I can appreciate the sacrifice,” Nick said gravely.
“My father died within a year,” Mrs. Clayton continued. “He and I were all that were left of our family. Three months later, Mr. Carter, I became the mother of twin boys.”
“Ah,” said Nick, “that is what I have suspected! Do not distress yourself by telling me too many details, Mrs. Clayton,” he added considerately. “The essential facts are all that I want.”
“They may be briefly told, Mr. Carter,” she said, with a grateful look at him. “My husband was a bad man,[Pg 29] much worse than I even dreamed of when I married him. I discovered his despicable character much too late.”
“Was he a criminal?”
“Yes.”
“May I know his name?”
“Why not? He has been dead many years. His name was Gideon Margate.”
Nick had heard of him, a notorious English crook, who had died in a German prison something like ten years before. He considerately suppressed the fact that he knew of the man, however, and said kindly: