He saw that this woman, whom he had once believed so innocent, even childish in her simplicity, was an associate of an unscrupulous gang that, no doubt, existed by blackmailing those who desired to escape from England. He had heard vague rumours of the existence of this strange association, for it had long ago been a puzzle to the London police why so many foreigners were able to evade them and fly successfully from the country, while Englishmen, who knew well the various outlets, usually failed.
“You made a solemn compact with me that night at Wroxeter,” she said. “And you have broken it. On my part I have done all that was possible. Cator would have known the truth long ago had it not been for my presence in Italy, and for the counteracting efforts of his own lieutenant, Francesco Marucci. To my foresight all this is due, yet now you decline to save yourself!”
“I refuse to be blackmailed.”
“You hope to escape and marry her,” laughed the fair-haired woman defiantly.
“I hope for nothing. My life is, to me, just as precious as it was that bitter night at Wroxeter.”
“And you absolutely refuse to accept the alternative?”
“I will accept nothing either from you, or from your associates,” he replied.
“Then we are to be enemies?”
“If you so desire.”
“You prefer the revelations that I intend to make?”