“How?” she gasped quickly, her face in an instant as pale as death.
“How?” he echoed in a fierce low whisper, advancing until he was close to the girl. “Cannot you see that I shall tell Frank Farquhar the truth of your absence from your home—that you met me, and stayed with me in those rooms!”
“You scoundrel!” she cried, drawing away from him, her cheeks flushed with sudden anger. “You threatened this before—you despicable coward, to thus try and take advantage of a woman’s good name! You destroyed that false telegram, so that I should not have it to show as proof!”
“You could get a copy from the post-office, I daresay,” he laughed airily. “But I merely make plain what is my intention, and that’s why I’ve come to the conclusion that the game between us is a drawn one.”
“Your threats have no terror for me!” she exclaimed, turning fiercely upon him. He saw that in her big eyes was determination and defiance, and was surprised.
“Then shout away, my dear girl—scream the house down, if you like,” he laughed coolly, as though with utter unconcern. “But just let me put things straight again first.” Then walking to the writing-table he took the translation of the decipher, replaced it in its drawer, and relocked it with a key he drew from his pocket.
His coolness was amazing, his cunning, extraordinary. The long window leading to the balcony over the portico was ajar. He had fixed a thin silken rope to the railings ready for escape to the street in case of necessity.
“Your conduct is abominable!” she ejaculated. “What harm have I done you that I should deserve this?”
“My dear girl, my conduct is only abominable of necessity, I assure you,” he argued with an impudent smile. “Our compact is simple enough. You do not wish to lose the man you love. Indeed, why should you?”
“Ah! why indeed?” she cried. “I have you alone to thank for all the evil suspicions cast upon me.”