Nick could hardly restrain a smile, for the man was clearly over-acting. But Nick kept up the pretense, for he wanted to see where the game was to lead to.
“No; but you shall sign a confession. You shall give me the proof. You shall give me the means of tearing asunder these bonds that have now become hateful to me.
“Here, sign this!”
He drew a paper from his pocket, and, spreading it on a table, gestured in the most melodramatic manner to Nick to sign it.
Nick crossed the room and took up the paper.
As he lifted it to read he saw that the pretended Mrs. Ansel had recovered consciousness, and was sitting upright on the sofa.
As soon as she saw Nick had observed her, she began to play her part.
“Oh, my husband!” she cried; “be merciful. I know appearances are against me, but you are mistaken. I have done no wrong. Listen to reason. This is not a lover. It is Mr. Carter, the great detective.”
“I care not who he is,” cried the other, in a great pretense of fury. “You met him by appointment. I watched you send the letter. I saw him meet you. I tracked you here. I saw you in his arms. I have witnesses. Sign you, sir!”
It was very cheap acting, but through it all Nick had read the paper, and saw that it was an effort to make him compromise himself by signing it.