“Your lordship is the last person I desired to see,” retorted Joyce.
“Doubtless,” replied the Bishop. “And now we have met, I have only one thing to say to you. I have traced Madame Latour to this house. Where is she?”
“She is here—upstairs.”
“In this—” began the Bishop, looking round and seeking for a word expressive of distaste.
“—hovel?” suggested Joyce. “Yes.”
“Under your protection?”
“Under my protection.”
Then Joyce noticed that his lips twitched, and that the perspiration beaded on his forehead, and that an agony of questioning was in his eyes.
“Have you been villain enough—?” he began in a hoarse, trembling voice.
But Joyce checked him with a sudden flash and an angry gesture.