“Anybody inside?” demanded Sir Gilbert sharply. He was standing just behind Lisle, but his eyes failed to pierce the semi-obscurity of the room.
“Mr. Lewis Clare, sir,” replied Everard.
“Ah, it is true, then!” He drew in his breath like one suddenly struck in a vital part and caught at Lisle’s shoulder. A shiver passed over him from head to foot, but his voice was firm enough when next he spoke.
“You there, come out—come out this instant,” he commanded.
Never was there a more abject-looking being than he who responded to the summons, with his blanched face, his dishevelled hair, and his fear-distended eyes. He seemed to crawl rather than walk into the outer room. Sir Gilbert pointed to a chair. “Seat yourself there,” he said. The look with which he regarded him was a mixture of pity, contempt and scorn.
Then, in an aside to Lady Pell, he added: “I thank heaven that not a drop of my ancestors’ blood runs in this craven’s veins. But pray be seated. This may prove to be a lengthy business.” As he spoke, he drew a chair forward near his own and they both sat down. Then turning to Everard, he said: “Mr. Lisle, I think I have heard you say that you write shorthand.”
“Yes, Sir Gilbert.”
“Then station yourself there opposite me. I want you to take notes of the questions I am about to put to this wretched young man and of his answers to the same.”
There were so many questions he wanted to ask that for a few moments he seemed at a loss where or how to begin. Luigi, of course, knew nothing about the letter which had reached him so mysteriously with the key of the strong room, and was still unaware that Sir Gilbert had the slightest suspicion of the gross imposition of which he had been made the victim.
For a brief space Sir Gilbert seemed lost in thought, then lifting his head and bending on Luigi from between his contracted lids a look which caused the young fellow to shrink and cower even more abjectly than before, he said: “Luigi Rispani, for that is your name, I know you at last for the vile impostor and cheat that you are. Whether you are aware of it or not, let me tell you this: you have been guilty of that which would inevitably consign you to a felon’s cell should I decide to proceed to extremities against you, and, indeed, you deserve nothing less at my hands. But what I may decide to do in the matter will depend in a great measure upon yourself. Answer the questions I am about to put to you truthfully and without prevarication, and I may be induced to deal leniently by you. Lie to me, or strive in any way to throw dust in my eyes, and the moment I discover you in the attempt I will have you given into the custody of the police and will proceed against you with the utmost rigour of the law. What say you, sir? Are you prepared to tell me the absolute and positive truth without a shadow of concealment on your part, or are you not?”