Farnum and Captain Jack stepped down a corridor in the wake of their enemy.
Rhinds led them into the ladies' parlor. Farnum and Jack caught sight of two anxious faced women—one, a refined woman of middle age, the other a beautiful girl of sixteen.
"Mr. Farnum, and Mr. Benson, my dear," announced John Rhinds, in oily tones. "Gentlemen, my wife, and my daughter, Helen. Both have something to say to you, gentlemen. Be seated, won't you?"
With that Rhinds slipped away. Like many another cur, in the hour when he finds himself driven to the wall, John Rhinds had sent for his wife and daughter. He proposed to escape from the consequences of his rascally acts by hiding behind the skirts of pure and good women who had the strange fortune to have their lives linked with his.
"What is all this that I have heard, sir?" asked Mrs. Rhinds, tears filling her eyes fast, as she turned to regard the Dunhaven shipbuilder.
It was the hardest hour Jacob Farnum had ever spent, and the same was true for Jack Benson.
This wife and daughter had the most absolute faith in the goodness of John Rhinds. They pleaded gently, eloquently, for these two enemies to have faith in their husband and father.
"You surely don't believe that Mr. Rhinds was at the bottom of any such scoundrelly plot as the papers are talking about?" asked Mrs. Rhinds, tearfully, at last.
"Madame," replied Farnum, in the gentlest tone he knew how to use, "I'll admit I don't like to believe it."
"And you'll come out in a public interview, saying you're convinced that the whole story is a monstrous lie, won't you?" pleaded the wife.