“Well, sir,” he exclaimed, with an expression of displeasure when he saw me, “to what, pray, do I owe this intrusion?”
“I have come,” I said, “to clear myself of the charge you have made against me.”
“To clear yourself! Bah!” he cried in disgust, returning to his papers. “My time is too valuable for further discussion,” and he made a movement to ring the bell for a messenger to conduct me out.
But I placed my hand upon his bony fingers firmly, and stayed it, saying,—
“It is to your interest, Lord Warnham, as well as to my own, that you should know the truth.”
“A traitor who will sell his country’s honour is capable of any falsehood whereby to justify himself,” he snapped savagely.
“I am no traitor,” I protested in anger.
His thin, white face relaxed into a bitterly sarcastic smile, and his lip curled in withering contempt.
“The efforts of ten years’ delicate diplomacy with Berlin have been rendered futile by your treachery or culpable negligence. Now you come to me with some lame, paltry tale or other, in an endeavour to convince me that you are neither thief nor spy! Each word of yours only aggravates your offence. I have dismissed you, and I tell you I decline to reopen the question.”
“But you have accused me of a crime, and I demand to be judged,” I cried.