The man before her was a blackguard. He had shown himself as such. With perfect coolness he could besmirch her fair name in such a manner that it could never again be cleared.
At that moment the girl was fighting for her own honour as well as her father’s secret which this man had gained. It was a secret no longer—it could never be. Their enemies had triumphed!
She set her teeth hard, and tried to think.
Jim Jannaway was quick to notice her change of manner.
“Remember,” he remarked, “one word to your father regarding this visit of mine, and your lover and your father shall know the truth!”
“They will know whatever lies you invent regarding me!” she said in a voice of intense bitterness.
He only shrugged his shoulders and smiled. She, a mere innocent girl, had no chance against his quick intellect, sharpened as it had been by years of crafty cunning and double dealing. To the “crooks” and silk-hatted adventurers of London the very name of Jim Jannaway was synonymous of all that was perfection in kid-gloved blackguardism.
“Well,” he said a moment later, “I haven’t time for further argument, Miss Griffin. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer. Perhaps the front door would be a less conspicuous exit for me.”
And so saying he stepped out upon the balcony, untied the silken rope from the railing, rolled it up swiftly, and placed it in his pocket.
A moment later he was again standing before her.