“Well, well,” he replied, with a poor attempt to turn the matter lightly; “I never contradict ladies; it is an honor to be so observed by them. Now, Major, can you give me any good reason for drawing upon a bad memory? My time is valuable. I can not refer to such by-gone matters for nothing.”
“We will not bribe you, if that is what you mean,” Major Hockin made answer, scornfully. “This is a criminal case, and we have evidence you little dream of. Our only offer is—your own safety, if you make a clean breast of it. We are on the track of a murderer, and your connection with him will ruin you. Unless you wish to stand in the dock at his side, you will tell us every thing.”
“Sir, this is violent language.”
“And violent acts will follow it: if you do not give up your principal, and every word you know about him, you will leave this room in custody. I have Cosmopolitan Jack outside, and the police at a sign from him will come.”
“Is this job already in the hands of the police, then?”
“No, not yet. I resolved to try you first. If you refuse, it will be taken up at once; and away goes your last chance, Sir.”
Mr. Goad's large face became like a field of conflicting passions and low calculations. Terror, fury, cupidity, and doggedness never had a larger battle-field.
“Allow me at least to consult my partners,” he said, in a low voice and almost with a whine; “we may do things irregular sometimes, but we never betray a client.”
“Either betray your client or yourself,” the Major answered, with a downright stamp. “You shall consult no one. You have by this watch forty-five seconds to consider it.”
“You need not trouble yourself to time me,” the other answered, sulkily; “my duty to the firm overrides private feeling. Miss Castlewood, I call you to witness, since Major Hockin is so peppery—”