“It’s an infernal piece of tyranny!” Armytage cried fiercely. “I suppose the police have fabricated some extraordinary allegations against her, and want money to hush it up. They want to levy blackmail.”
“No, no,” Jack Hutchinson said, his manner at once relaxing as he rose and crossed to the window, his hands behind his back. “The position is a simple one,” he continued, looking him straight in the face. “The police have evidently discovered that this lady is either not what she represents herself to be, or that some extraordinary mystery is attached to her; therefore cut her acquaintance, my dear sir. Take my advice. It will save you heaps of bother.”
“I can’t,” the other answered hoarsely. “I’ll never forsake her!”
“Not if she’s hounded from town to town by the police, like this?”
“No. I love her,” he replied brokenly.
Hutchinson sighed. A silence fell between them deep and complete.
At last the Consul spoke in a grave tone. His professional air had relaxed, as it always did when he desired to assist an Englishman in distress.
“Before you love her,” he suggested, “would it not be as well to ask her what chapter of her life she has concealed? If she really loves you, she will no doubt tell you everything. Is it not an excellent test?”
“But that will not alter the decision of the Questore.” Armytage observed woefully.
“No, that’s true. The lady must leave Leghorn this evening. Take my advice and part from her,” he added sympathetically. “In a few weeks you will forget. And if you would spare her the disgrace of being sent out of Leghorn, urge her to leave of her own accord. If you will pledge your word that she shall leave to-day, I will at once see the Questore, and beg him to suspend the orders he is about to give.”