“Yes,” I said. “Enter, Mr Graham; we wish to speak with you.”
“You’ve betrayed me—curse you!” he cried, turning upon La Gioia. “You’ve told them the truth?”
The colour had died from his face, and he looked as grey and aged as on the first occasion when we had met and he had tempted me.
“We desire the truth from your own lips,” I said determinedly. “I am not here without precautions. The house is surrounded by police, and they will enter at a sign from me if you refuse an explanation—the truth, mind. If you lie you will both be arrested.”
“I know nothing,” he declared, his countenance dark and sullen.
He made a slight instinctive movement towards his pocket, and I knew that a revolver was there.
“You know the reason of our marriage,” I said quickly. “What was it?”
“Speak!” urged La Gioia. “You can only save yourself by telling the truth.”
“Save myself!” he cried in a tone of defiance. “You wish to force me to confession—you and this woman! You’ve acted cleverly. When she invited me here, this afternoon, I did not dream that she had outwitted me.”
The woman had, however, made the appointment in ignorance of our intentions, therefore she must have had some other motive. But he was entrapped, and saw no way of escape.