“Yes. I have been silent regarding your crimes,” she replied. “The affair is not forgotten, I assure you. And a word from me will sentence you to the punishment which all murderers well deserve.”
“Good. Do it!” he laughed, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I wish you would. You would be rid of me then—the widow of a murderer!”
“You killed Richard Harborne because you were paid to do so—paid by a spy of Germany,” she said, very slowly. “The report which my husband possesses tells the truth. The British Secret Service has spared no pains to elucidate the mystery of Harborne’s death.”
“Then they also know that I married you, I suppose? They know you are wife of the guilty man—eh?”
She bit her lip. That thought had not recently occurred to her. Long ago, when it had, she had quickly crushed it down, believing that Ralph was dead. But, on the contrary, he was there, standing before her, the grim vision of the long-buried past.
“Well,” she asked suddenly, “what do you want with me now that you have found me?”
“Not much. I dare say you and I can come to terms.”
“What terms? I don’t understand?”
“You are my wife,” he said. “Well, that is your secret—and mine. You want to close my mouth,” he said roughly. “And of course you can do so—at a price.”