“Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of such blackguards!” I cried.
“Pardon me,” he said. “I am compelled to differ with that opinion. Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too, would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious.”
“But what is this secret knowledge?” I demanded. “I have narrowly escaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feel that it is but right that I should now know the truth.”
“Not from me, Mr. Biddulph,” he answered. “Have I not already told you the reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?”
“I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to the sinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me, they could have done so without seeking to take my life by those horrible means.”
“What means did they employ?” he asked.
Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent, listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise. Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well.
“I warned you,” was all he vouchsafed. “Sylvia warned you also.”
“It is over—of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth,” I said, rising from my chair. “I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledge of what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, so confident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day—yes, let me confess it to you—for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day, here—only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife.”
“Your wife!” he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale and drawn.