“No. It may be shown to you when you are before the judge, not until then.”
“The accusation is false and infamous!”
“Very well. If you have a perfect answer, you have nothing to fear.”
“Nothing—no, nothing!” he repeated quickly, with a hollow laugh.
“Mariette Lestrade also died mysteriously,” I said, raising my hand towards him. “Fothergill knew your terrible secret—the secret that she did not succumb to natural causes. You committed the second crime in London in order to hide the first in Paris!”
“I—I—” he stammered, but his lips refused to utter further sound.
“I am well aware of the facts, I assure you,” I exclaimed. “First, however, let me tell you that I hesitate to place the London police in possession of them on account of the terrible shame and degradation your exposure will cause your wife and children. You who hold the highest office in this colony, who are respected and considered just, upright, and above suspicion, would be convicted of two brutal crimes. What would those who shake your hand at your reception to-night say if they knew their amiable Governor was an assassin?”
“Stop!” he cried hoarsely. “Dieu! stop! I—I cannot bear it!”
“It is not for me to heap reproach upon you. You jeered at the suggestion that I could bribe you to allow Zoraida to escape. Do you now refuse the douceur?”
“If she escaped mysteriously—what would my douceur be?”