His thin lips twitched nervously and his brows contracted.
“Ah!” he responded, still quite cool. “I think you view the matter in a wrong light. There are various grades of murder. Surely it is no great crime, but rather a humane action, to put a dying girl out of her agony.”
“To shorten her life a single minute would be a foul assassination,” I replied, regarding him with loathing. “And further, sir, you do not appear to fully realise your own position, or that it is a penal offence to attempt to bribe a person to take another’s life.”
He laughed a short, defiant laugh.
“No, no,” he said. “Please do not waste valuable time by idle chatter of that kind. I assure you that I have no fear whatever of the result of my action. There is no witness here, and if you endeavoured to bring me before a judge, who, pray, would believe you?” There was some truth in those defiant words, and I saw by his attitude that he was not to be trifled with.
“I take it that you have objects in both your propositions—in your daughter’s marriage, and in her death?” I said, in a more conciliatory tone, hoping to learn something further of the motive of his dastardly proposal.
“My object is my own affair,” he snapped.
“And my conscience is my own,” I said. “I certainly do not intend that it shall be burdened by the crime for which you offer me this payment.”
He fixed me with flaming eyes. “Then you refuse?” he cried.
“Most certainly I refuse,” I responded. “Moreover, I intend to visit your daughter upstairs, and strive, if possible, to save her.”