“I see no other way out of it, Merriam,” he said. “I was hoping you could forgive her—take her back, sometime. I am fond of her. In fact, fond of the three of you, confound it! The whole business has upset me. First the murder affair—and now this. Yes. It’s best. Let somebody be happy, at any rate. You are acting generously—but I’d like you to give her a little grace—unless time is important.”
“It is important,” said Gerard. “I want to get away. I don’t see why I should go on slaving at the bar any longer. If it hadn’t been for my wife I should have chucked it long ago. I have about six hundred a year of my own. Why the deuce should I worry myself?”
“What are you thinking of doing?”
“South Africa. Big game shooting. One of the dreams of my life. I’m sick of this atmosphere. I want to breathe freely. I know Freewintle—the big man at that sort of thing, you know. He’s going out in two or three months. I don’t see why I should lose the chance of going with him. So I should like to set everything straight by then.”
Harroway nodded his head with mournful assent.
“I can quite understand.”
He walked across the room, then back again and halted before Gerard.
“But you know, Merriam, I would willingly give a thousand pounds to have your wife proved innocent.”
“I would give all I have to be able to believe her,” returned Gerard. But his tone sounded disingenuous in his own ears.
“I am not going to ask you to act for me, professionally,” he added.