“Without knowing what led up to it.” Alexia spoke in a level voice, as though forced to suggest in her justification another than the obvious reason.
Gastineau continued. “You left him then quickly; and, to my surprise, he did not follow. I could just see the self-satisfied look on his face as he stood looking after you. It was that look that kept me there till he noticed me. I suppose he gathered from my expression what I had heard and seen; anyhow he began to abuse and insult me—after the manner of an empty-headed Guardsman who had been caught playing a disreputable game. I replied hotly enough; my rage and jealous hate were beyond restraint; as to being an eavesdropper, I had as much right there as he; he, a dishonourable Philander, had everything to be ashamed of; I nothing. I waited for a break in the somewhat sharp sarcasm with which he assailed me, and then began, in the most stinging language my profession had taught me, to paint his character, his reputation as I then saw it. I dare say he had never before had such taunts flung at him. I stung him into a state of speechless rage; the few retorts he had attempted were feeble and simply furnished me with fresh turns of recrimination. As his temper rose, mine fell; for I began to enjoy the castigation I was giving him. At last the cutting slashes of my tongue whipped him beyond endurance.
“‘You——!’ he cried, choking with rage. ‘I’ll teach you to insult me; I’ll show you the difference between a soldier and a wretched limb of the law; I’ll shake the miserable life out of you.’
“He came up and took me by the throat. I am not a physically weak man, and he found me stronger than he had imagined. I released myself from his grip without much difficulty. This enraged him still more; he was one of those stupid men who cannot bear to have their self-constituted superiority put in question. With insulting words, he attacked me again, but our first encounter had brought to my recollection that I still held in my hand your little sword. I had no wish for a further contest, so retreated a few steps as he advanced upon me.”
“‘Keep off, you great bully!’ I said. ‘If you lay hands on me again it will be the worse for you. A pity you cannot behave yourself towards either women or men.’
“Following me up with a vicious look in his eyes, Martindale made a sudden rush forward and seized me again by the throat, this time with both hands. ‘I’ll teach you to spy upon me, you skunk: I’ll spoil your game before you get the chance of spoiling mine again.’ His big, strong hands encircled my throat, one from the front and the other from behind; the clutch became so vicious that I could not breathe; the man was, I knew, mad with rage; honestly I thought he would strangle me. Against the terrible grip I could do nothing; all power was leaving me with my breath; the agony became intense, it was that of death; my mind became suddenly clear as a dying man’s, and, with the sudden flash of hyper-consciousness, I remembered again the little weapon I still clutched. On the instant I struck out at him with it, in a last despairing effort, with all the strength that was left me. So little did I count on the effectiveness of the stroke, that it was with surprise I felt the grip round my throat almost simultaneously relax. Martindale gave a kind of choking sigh, and fell forward upon me. Reeling with faintness, I had just strength enough to break his fall to the floor; he slid down through my arms and lay there, dead. That is all; the rest is known to the world. It is good of you to have listened so patiently to my long story. But I owe it to myself, if not to you, to convince you that I am not quite a murderer, and at the same time to give you the true account of how Martindale came by his death.”
He waited for her response. “Yes,” she said, breaking at last the tenseness of her attitude; “I am glad to know how it really happened.” For the first time she let her eyes rest on his face, but, though his own seemed to search for it, there was no suggestion of tenderness or invitation in them.
He took a step towards her. “I hope,” he said, “it may make all the difference in our relations to each other.”
The grey eyes hardened now. “If you mean that we should be more than comparative strangers, that cannot be.”
She spoke boldly, and he wondered whether her spirit could be as brave as her words.