“I will do my utmost in your interests,” I assured her. “This woman—is she one of the conspirators?”
“Beware of her. She is treacherous, unscrupulous, and possessed of a cunning that is almost beyond comprehension. Act with discretion, and exercise every care of your own personal safety.”
“Why? I have no fear in London in broad daylight,” I smiled.
“Ah! You don’t know,” she cried. “In dealing with her, you are dealing with a person who would hesitate at nothing in order to attain her own ends. Until now, although a word from her could give me my freedom from this imminent danger that threatens to overtake me, she has kept silence and watched for my downfall.”
“I will compel her to confess,” I cried fiercely. “If it is within human power to save you, Lolita, I will do so. Trust me, because I love you.”
She sighed, and again her eyes were dimmed by tears.
“And if you hear strange tales about me, certain allegations of—shameful stories, I mean—you will believe none of them till you have proof—will you?” she urged breathlessly, with a deep anxiety in her voice.
“No,” I promised. “I will not. To me, Lolita, you are innocent, pure and good, just as when we were boy and girl together.” And again I placed her finger-tips to my lips as seal of my allegiance to the one woman who was all the world to me.
At that instant there came a tap at the door, and I was compelled to drop her hand instantly.
Slater, the aged, white-whiskered butler, opened the door, saying in his squeaky voice—