“Not so astounding, Professor, as the story which I could tell. But both men are dead; therefore, for me to speak is now unnecessary. They were as crafty a pair of scoundrels as there were in the whole of Europe: and from them, your daughter Miss Gwen, had, indeed, a very narrow escape.”
“Ah!” cried Frank. “Tell us the whole truth—do!”
“Not without Miss Gwen’s consent,” he laughed. “My daughter is out,” Griffin said, “I expect her to return every moment. She has been expecting you daily.”
“Red Mullet” smiled.
“Well, you know,” he said, “your daughter, Professor, is my particular little friend.”
“And you have been her good friend and protector, if what she tells me is correct,” remarked her father. “But I want to hear the story from your lips. She refuses to say anything.”
“Because I bound her to secrecy. It was imperative,” he assured the grey-haired man. “And to you, Mr Farquhar,” he said, “I must apologise. Some of my actions must have appeared mysterious—even suspicious.”
“Well,” replied Frank, with some hesitation. “I saw Jim Jannaway and—and he told me a very strange story.”
“He lied to you,” said Mullet quickly. “Ah! I know! He told you that he was her lover—eh? It was a lie—an infernal and cowardly lie! Look here, Mr Farquhar, I’m older than you, a good deal, and I’m a man who respects a woman’s honour—I’ve a daughter of my own in Diamond’s care. You know my little Aggie, to whom I’m devoted. Well, I tell you upon my oath—if you will accept the oath of an outsider like myself—that Miss Gwen is innocent, and that she loves only you—has thought of only you—and is as devoted to you as I am to my own dear child.”
Frank hesitated, his eyes fixed upon the speaker. He saw that the man before him spoke the truth: that the evil-tongued coward who, cornered, dare not face the music, had uttered foul lies.