“Yours,” said his son. “Is it one that I may not know?”
“Yes. I would prefer to say nothing more,” he answered briefly.
“Nothing more concerning a woman who held me for days beneath her evil influence, helpless as a babe in her unscrupulous hands—a woman who compelled me to—”
“To what, Roddy?” asked his father very quickly, and with difficulty controlling his own emotion.
“To commit some crime, I fear. But I cannot tell—I cannot decide exactly what I did—or how I acted. All seems so vague, indistinct and mysterious! All I remember is that woman’s handsome face—that pair of dark, evil eyes!”
“Yes,” remarked the old man in a deep voice. “They are evil. The man is bad enough—but the woman is even worse.”
“The man Harrison?”
“No. Gordon Gray. You have not met him.”
“Perhaps I have. Perhaps he was the man with Mrs Crisp at the house where I was held in bondage—a big house standing in its own grounds—but where it is situated, I have no idea.”
“Perhaps,” said his father reflectively. “Describe him.”