It was one of Jannaway’s characteristics that the more angry he became, the more cool was his exterior.
“I want to know nothing from one who is a liar, a thief, and a slanderer of women,” Frank responded, in a hard, bitter voice.
“I understand that the object of your visit was to inquire the reason why I called so early this morning at Pembridge Gardens. I have simply replied that I called at the Professor’s in response to this invitation,” and he indicated the telegram which he still held in his hand, and which, if the truth were told, he had taken the precaution to send to himself, as additional evidence against the innocent girl whom he had all along intended should be his victim.
“And you repeat your allegation that Miss Gwen has been your guest at your chambers for several days—eh? Remember, if untrue, such a statement is actionable.”
“I repeat it. And I ask you to satisfy yourself as to its truth by asking her. But,” he added, “I may as well tell you that the little girl is annoyed with me just now for betraying her father’s secret to my friends. Yet, after all, as I’ve already said, it was only a matter of business, and with business women ought never to meddle. They always burn their fingers.”
“And your friends—that is Sir Felix Challas and his associates—intend, of course, to profit by this secret which you’ve stolen—eh?” asked Frank, his face darkening.
“That’s their affair—not mine.”
“I hear that you bribed the parlour-maid at Pembridge Gardens—the crafty scoundrel that you are!”
“That’s it!” Jim laughed, “and I squeezed the cook, and kissed the kitchenmaid! Anything else? No, I really haven’t any more time to waste, Mr Farquhar. All I need add is, that if you doubt my statement, please ask Miss Griffin herself.”