Fair wheeled round at him, saying: “My God, are you men English gentlemen and going to allow an innocent woman to be hanged in order to save me?”
“I seem to hear your father speak in you,” remarked Marshall, “yet there is this difference, Fair. He would have died for a great purpose, but never for a lie or to defeat the ends of justice.”
Fair winced at this, and Travers said: “That’s the line, Marshall.”
“Not a word he has said can move me,” went on Fair, rising. “I want no man’s forced friendship. I have decided on a course. You choose to allow me to pursue it alone. Good-bye.”
He spoke with such feeling, and moved toward the door with so much majesty, that none of them attempted to stop him.
Before he reached the door it was opened and a closely cropped head appeared, and a soft, insinuating cockney voice said: “Beg pardon, I’m sure. Ferret, gentlemen; Ferret, of Scotland Yard.”
“You see, Marshall, others are not as incredulous as you. I am the man you want, Mr. Ferret,” said Fair as the detective came in and sat down.
“I’ll attend to you, sir, in a minute,” replied Ferret jauntily. “Perhaps these gentlemen will try a cigar in the gardens for a few minutes.”
“Oh, never mind them,” quickly returned Fair; “they know all. Proceed.”
“But you see, sir, they don’t know all,” replied Ferret.