"It's no use; if he has made up his mind to speak you can't stop him. Take my advice, and keep away from here, and away from Green Barn, too. There's a chance, of course, that the man will say nothing; he may come whining back here, to try and get money out of me. In any case, Mr. Norton Hyde, I've had enough of the business; you can shift for yourself. It may interest you to know that I am winding up my affairs, and I'm going abroad. And in this instance I shall not go alone."
I could afford not to notice that sneer, because I knew that I held the winning hand, and that Debora was mine. So I made no answer; I knew that there were cards I could play when the time came—cards of which he knew nothing. My only doubt was as to the man Capper; because, if Debora's suspicions were true, it was vitally necessary that we should get hold of the man, and should question him. More than that, I knew that Debora had in her the spirit to move heaven and earth over the matter of her dead friend, Gregory Pennington, to discover the manner of his death.
Yet here was William Capper, for some strange reason, swearing devotion to the doctor, and begging to be allowed to remain with him. Even if I could get hold of the man, I knew that in his present state of mind I could do no good with him; he might in all innocence go to the doctor, and tell him what my questions had been. There was nothing for it but to leave the matter alone, and to return to Debora. Accordingly I took my leave, if such a phrase can be used to describe my going.
"I shan't trouble you again," I said to Bardolph Just. "For your own sake, I think you will do your best to ensure that the secret of Gregory Pennington's death is kept." I glanced quickly at the man Capper as I spoke; but my words seemed to have no effect upon him, save that once again I thought he seemed to be listening, and that, too, with some intentness. But I felt, even in that, that I might be wrong.
"What do you mean by that?" snapped the doctor, turning upon me in answer to my remark.
"You told me once that you were anxious to keep the matter a secret, in order to avoid giving pain, and to prevent any scandal touching your house," I answered steadily. "What other meaning should I have?"
"None, of course," he answered, and looked at me broodingly for a moment, as though striving to see behind my words. "However, in that matter you are right; I don't want that business all raked over again. For both our sakes, you'd better keep out of the way of Mr. George Rabbit."
There was nothing else to be done, and without any formal words I turned and walked out of the house by the way I had come. I felt that I had finished with Dr. Bardolph Just; I could afford to laugh at him, and could leave him to settle matters with George Rabbit.
I went back to that hotel near the Charterhouse in which I had left Debora; there were many things about which I must talk to her. In the first place, we had to consider the great question of ways and means; above all, we had to remember—or perhaps I should say that I had to remember, for she was utterly trustful of me—that she was in my hands, and that I had to be careful of her until such time as I could make her my wife. I had a sort of feeling that I could not go on in this indefinite way, leaving her in hotels and such-like places. Besides, I felt absolutely certain that the one person to whom in my dilemma I must apply was my Uncle Zabdiel, for had I not already prepared him for her coming?
While I had no great faith in Uncle Zabdiel, I yet felt that, from sheer dread of me, he would hesitate before playing tricks. In his eyes I was a most abandoned villain, capable of anything; he had hanging over him that threat of mine to kill him—a threat which would remain a threat only, but a very powerful deterrent if he had any hopes of betraying me.