“I am not at liberty to say anything.”
“Remember, Bethune, I was married to her. Surely if any man has a right to know who and what she was, I have,” I urged.
“I’m well aware of your strange marriage. You were fascinated by her extraordinary beauty, as other men had been, and—”
“Is that meant as an insinuation against her good name?” I cried fiercely.
“Take it as you please, the truth is the same,” he answered, with a sneering smile. “You fell in love with her, and were caught, like a fly in a trap.” And he laughed harshly at my discomfiture.
“Then you will tell me nothing about her?” I exclaimed angrily. “You refuse to assist me in recognition of the service I have done you in avoiding your arrest. Help me, and I will help you. If not, well—there is already within hail one into whose hands if you once fall you will never extricate yourself.”
“Death?”
“No; an officer of police.”
“Bah! I fear the former no more than the latter,” he cried, in a tone of banter. “Denounce me—let them arrest me. I am ready to face my traducers; but even in exchange for my liberty, I will tell you nothing of Sybil.”
“Very well,” I said. “Then the warrant shall be executed without delay.”