“I may be wrong—we shall soon see,” says he; “but my impression is that you will not ‘repeat it here.’ My impression is that you have come into this room, and that you will tell me something before you go out.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Let me explain,” he continued. “Your evidence, of course, is nonsense. I put it by, and the court put it by.”
“My compliments and thanks!” said I.
“You must know—that’s the short and the long,” he proceeded. “All of you in Shed B are bound to know. And I want to ask you where is the common sense of keeping up this farce, and maintaining this cock-and-bull story between friends. Come, come, my good fellow, own yourself beaten, and laugh at it yourself.”
“Well, I hear you—go ahead,” said I. “You put your heart in it.”
He crossed his legs slowly. “I can very well understand,” he began, “that precautions have had to be taken. I dare say an oath was administered. I can comprehend that perfectly.” (He was watching me all the time with his cold, bright eyes.) “And I can comprehend that, about an affair of honour, you would be very particular to keep it.”
“About an affair of honour?” I repeated, like a man quite puzzled.
“It was not an affair of honour, then?” he asked.
“What was not? I do not follow,” said I.