“Reflect,” urged Du Cane at last, as he rose to his feet. Then, lowering his voice, he said in a hoarse whisper, “You may find yourself in a corner over that affair of young Burke. If so, it’s only I and my friends who could prove an alibi. Remember that.”
“And you offer that, in return for my assistance?” Poland said reflectively, hesitating for a moment and turning to the window.
His visitor nodded in the affirmative.
Next second the man to whom those terms had been offered quickly faced his friend. His countenance was haggard, blanched to the lips, for he had been quick to realize the full meaning of that covert threat.
“Arnold!” he said in a hoarse, strained voice, full of bitter reproach, “you may turn upon me, give me away to the police—tell them the truth—but my decision remains the same. I will lend no hand in that affair.”
“You are prepared to face arrest—eh?”
“If it is your will—yes.”
“And your daughter?”
“That is my own affair.”
“Very well, then. As you will,” was the bald-headed man’s response, as he put on his grey felt hat and, taking his stick, strode through the open French windows and disappeared.