“I would do it if I could, Heaven knows. You’ve got me in a corner, but----” And at that instant he sprang forward to grab me by the throat. I was fully prepared, and instead of getting his hands on me he threw them up and staggered back from my levelled revolver. “Don’t try that again,” I said between my teeth. “And now do what I have told you--and do it at once.” He abandoned his intention to try force, and sat down again at the desk, but he would not write the letters. “I dare not. I dare not. You must do what you will. I dare not,” he repeated, over and over again in answer to my threats. This persistent refusal perplexed me. That he was in fear of his life I knew, for I had convinced him I meant to set his enemy on his track. But there was obviously something or some one of whom he was even more afraid than of me. I could think of only one man--Barosa. But why of him? And why only in regard to breaking his engagement to Miralda? “Why are you so determined to marry Mademoiselle Dominguez?” “I am not. I will take any oath you like not to marry her.” “Then it is only the written renouncement you shrink from?” “I dare not do it.” “Then write a letter to her asking her to release you and to keep the whole thing secret.” “Why are you so set on this?” he asked. “Don’t question me,” I snapped angrily. He sat thinking in moody despair. He might well despair being between the upper and nether millstones. Then at length he took up the pen and began to write, but stopped and tore up the sheet. “You can tell her,” he said. I renewed my threats, promising secrecy, but he struggled hard and at length I got up and went to the door, declaring I would at once dispatch the telegram I had drafted. “Give me time,” he said then. “Let me have a week--three days--one day----” he pleaded as I shook my head. And at last he gave in. “Now for my last condition,” I said as I took the letter. “You will leave the city at once--to-day.” “Give me more time. I shall go of course after this, but I must have some time--two days at least--to make arrangements.” “Not one hour after to-day. If you are still in the city to-morrow, this message will go to Lucien Prelot.” And with that final shot I left him. There was only a very small fly in the amber of my satisfaction at the result of the interview. I had secured all I wanted. I had caused the rupture of the engagement to Miralda, had put an end to his hold over her brother, had obtained the proofs of his treachery toward Barosa, and had given him a notice to quit which he would not dare to disobey. The only point where I had failed had been in learning that strange secret at the back of his fears which had made him refuse to write the letter to the visconte. It was in some way connected with the betrothal; but beyond that, I could not even hazard a guess.