Baroni laughed a little; he felt secure now, and could not resist the pleasure of braving and of torturing the “aristocrats.”
“I don't doubt your will or your strength, my lord; but neither do I doubt the force of the law to make you account for any brutality of the prize-ring your lordship may please to exert on me.”
The Seraph ground his heel into the carpet.
“We waste words on that wretch,” he said abruptly to Cecil. “Prove his insolence the lie it is, and we will deal with him later on.”
“Precisely what I said, my lord,” murmured Baroni. “Let Mr. Cecil prove his innocence.”
Into Bertie's eyes came a hunted, driven desperation. He turned them on Rockingham with a look that cut him to the heart; yet the abhorrent thought crossed him—was it thus that men guiltless looked?
“Mr. Cecil was with my partner at 7:50 on the evening of the 15th. It was long over business hours, but my partner to oblige him stretched a point,” pursued the soft, bland, malicious voice of the German Jew. “If he was not at our office—where was he? That is simple enough.”
“Answered in a moment!” said the Seraph, with impetuous certainty. “Cecil!—to prove this man what he is, not for an instant to satisfy me—where were you at that time on the 15th?”
“The 15th!”
“Where were you?” pursued his friend. “Were you at mess? At the clubs? Dressing for dinner?—where—where? There must be thousands of ways of remembering—thousands of people who'll prove it for you?”