"I am not denying the truth," he replied. "I am denying the extraordinary assertion you are making." "Because you fear to face the truth." "I fear nothing," he responded defiantly. "What, in Heaven's name, have I to fear?" "The consequences of the cleverly-planned conspiracy against myself." He smiled superciliously, and answered, "I don't understand you. What conspiracy?" "Listen!" I cried furiously. "It is useless for you to affect either ignorance or indifference. This is no case of mistaken identity. You forget that I am a medical man, and that my eye can detect a mark upon the flesh where the layman sees nothing. That crinkled depression on the inside of your wrist is a mark left in infancy. It cannot be imitated, neither can it be obliterated. You may alter your facial expression, or the outline of your figure; but you cannot alter that." He glanced at his wrist, and I saw that he had never before noticed the indelible mark upon the flesh. "You bore that mark on the day we met three months ago, and you bear it now," I went on. "Do you still deny your presence in London on the date I have mentioned?" "Of course I do," he said. "Then, you are a liar, and I will treat you as such!" I responded firmly. We were standing facing one another, and I saw in his eyes an evil glint which told me plainly that he was no mean antagonist. "You pay me a compliment," he said coolly. "I cannot see what motive you have in thus insulting me." "It is no insult," I cried. "You are my enemy. You and your accomplice, Tattersett, devised an ingenious trap, and then called me in for professional consultation. The trap was well baited, and, as you intended, I fell into it. I thank God for one thing--namely, that I did not commit murder at your instigation." He smiled again, but no word escaped him. "You cannot think that I am in ignorance of the plot, or that I am unaware that, owing to the deception you have practised upon me, Beryl Wynd is my wife." "And what connexion have I with all this?" he demanded. "If Beryl Wynd is your wife, what is it to do with me, pray?" "The marriage was effected by conspiracy," I answered. "She was your victim--just as I unfortunately was. The penalty for such conspiracy is penal servitude." "Well?" he inquired, smiling again. "And I take it that you suspect me of being implicated in the conspiracy? All I can reply is that you are entirely mistaken." "I am not mistaken," I said hotly. "It was yourself who tempted me, holding the banknotes in your hand--" "And if you consented, as you allege, you became equally implicated in the conspiracy," he observed, interrupting me. I had never before looked at the matter in such a light. His words were true. I had sold myself to the conspirators--had become an accessory, and was therefore just as liable to prosecution as they were! "You attempted to suborn me to commit murder," I added. "It's a lie," answered the Tempter flatly.