“I have none—only what my husband gives me.”
“Husband! I’m your husband, remember. I tell you, Jean, I don’t intend to starve. I may be well dressed, but that’s only bluff. I’ve got only a few pounds in the world.”
“I see,” she said. “You intend to blackmail me. But I warn you that if those are your tactics, I shall simply tell Bracondale what I know concerning Richard Harborne.”
“You will—will you!” he cried, fiercely, advancing towards her threateningly. “By Heaven, if you breathe a word about that, I—I’ll kill you!”
And in his eyes shone a bright, murderous light—a light that she had seen there once before—on the night of her departure.
She recognised how determined he was, and drew back in fear.
Then, placing his hand in his jacket pocket, he drew forth a small leather wallet, much worn, and from it took a soiled, crumpled but carefully-preserved letter, which he opened and presented for her inspection.
“Do you recognise this?” he asked, with a sinister grin.
She drew back and held her breath.