"Well, what is it?"
"It is known that you are a French spy."
"Child——!"
"I know it, as others know it. You may be grateful that those who know it are my friends."
Durrell sat staring, his face vacant, mouth slightly open. Nance had expected a violent outburst, recriminations, arguments, denials.
Presently he spoke to her, making a great effort to regain his self-control.
"What do you mean, child?"
"What I have said, father. Nor is that all. This man De Rothan may be accused of murder."
Durrell's hands moved restlessly to and fro along the edge of the seat.
"Murder! I know nothing of that."