Part 63 (2/2)
”Do you believe in my innocence?”
”Beyond a doubt.”
”When I said 'there is a stain upon my hand,' I did not mean the stain of guilt, but of suspicion, of accusation.”
”There is _no_ stain upon your hand! Doctor Heath. What is this I hear about you? They tell me you will make no defense.”
He smiled down at her.
”I could make but one defense, and that--”
”And that?”
”And that, Miss Wardour, I would not make.”
”Why?”
She was straining every nerve to preserve her composure; words came from her lips like frozen heartbeats.
”Because--Miss Wardour, do not ask me why.”
”I do ask; I persist. Why? Why? _Why?_”
”Because--I see you are as imperious as ever--because I can only save myself by giving the real murderer up to justice.”
She was on her feet in an instant, all her enforced calmness gone, unutterable misery in her face and voice.
”You know!” she cried. ”You! Oh! my G.o.d, what shall I do!”
”Have no fear, Miss Wardour; have I not said I will keep my own counsel?”
”But, you! _You!_ Oh, there is no reason why _you_ should not speak; you are not bound! You are not--oh, what am I saying!” She sank back into her seat, panting and wild-eyed.
”Miss Wardour, calm yourself,” he said, gently. ”I _am_ bound. It is my pleasure to keep this secret. Listen. A short time ago I received a visit from my lawyers. They told me--among other things, they thought it best that I should know--that you knew who did the deed, and that you would have us both saved, innocent and guilty alike. Before that, I had determined to keep silence; now I am doubly resolved. For your sake, I will not accuse Frank Lamotte.”
”Frank--you will not accuse _Frank Lamotte_? And for my sake!” she almost shrieked. ”For G.o.d's sake, explain. What is Frank Lamotte to me?
Of what can you accuse him?”
It was Clifford Heath's turn to lose his composure. How could he interpret her words? Was she trying to deceive him?
”Miss Wardour,” he said, almost sternly, ”do you wish me to understand that Francis Lamotte is nothing to you?”
”_Nothing to me!_ the vilest, the basest, the most treacherous, the most abject of all human creatures, _that_ is what Frank Lamotte is to me!”
Uncontrollable scorn rang in her voice; rising anger, too. How dared _he_ couple her name with that of Frank Lamotte?
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