“You are making a bolder request than you think, Mr. Vanstone. I never do things by halves. When I am acting with my customary candor, I am frank (as you know already) to the utmost verge of imprudence. When exceptional circumstances compel me to take an opposite course, there isn’t a slyer fox alive than I am. If, at your express request, I take off my honest English coat here and put on a Jesuit’s gown—if, purely out of sympathy for your awkward position, I consent to keep your secret for you from Mrs. Lecount—I must have no unseasonable scruples to contend with on your part. If it is neck or nothing on my side, sir, it must be neck or nothing on yours also.”
“Neck or nothing, by all means,” said Noel Vanstone, briskly—“on the understanding that you go first. I have no scruples about keeping Lecount in the dark. But she is devilish cunning, Mr. Bygrave. How is it to be done?”
“You shall hear directly,” replied the captain. “Before I develop my views, I should like to have your opinion on an abstract question of morality. What do you think, my dear sir, of pious frauds in general?”
Noel Vanstone looked a little embarrassed by the question.
“Shall I put it more plainly?” continued Captain Wragge. “What do you say to the universally-accepted maxim that ‘all stratagems are fair in love and war’?—Yes or No?”
“Yes!” answered Noel Vanstone, with the utmost readiness.
“One more question and I have done,” said the captain. “Do you see any particular objection to practicing a pious fraud on Mrs. Lecount?”
Noel Vanstone’s resolution began to falter a little.
“Is Lecount likely to find it out?” he asked cautiously.
“She can’t possibly discover it until you are married and out of her reach.”