‘Unhappily,’ he faltered, after that awkward pause, ‘Lucius had a bad attack—brain fever, or apoplexy he called it—just at the time of this man’s death. His evidence would therefore hardly satisfy you.’ ‘In point of fact, Mr. Hossack, it seems that neither you nor my brother were in a condition to know anything about the event. You could have only hearsay evidence. Who was your informant?’ This question was a home-thrust. To name Lucius would have been almost to betray him; and again, he had just given her to understand that Lucius was unconscious at the time of the event. Again there came a pause, painfully awkward for Geoffrey. He felt that Mrs. Bertram was watching him with gravely questioning eyes. How was he to reply? ‘There was a little German with us,’ he said at last, with a desperate plunge, knowing not how near to his friend’s betrayal this admission might lead him; ‘a sea-captain, a native of Hamburg, called Schanck—Absalom Schanck—a very good fellow, who was with us—our fellow-traveller. I—I think you must have heard me speak of him. He saw the shot fired.’ ‘And saw my husband die?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Geoffrey, but not with perfect conviction; ‘I believe so.’ ‘And pray, where is Mr. Schanck? His evidence may be worth very little, but it would be as well to hear it.’ ‘Upon my word,’ said Geoffrey, crestfallen, ‘I’m afraid that at this present moment Schanck is washing gold in San Francisco, unless he has been made mincemeat of by larger diggers.’ ‘We must wait for some other witness then,’ said Janet, in a tone of calm certainty, which made reply seem impossible. Geoffrey could but submit. He must needs obey this lovely image of destiny. ‘So be it,’ he said, with a despairing sigh; ‘but you will let me come to see you sometimes—won’t you, Janet?’ very tenderly, and evidently expecting a reproof; instead of which his devotion was rewarded with a smile. ‘And you’ll receive me just as you have done this afternoon, and give me a cup of that delicious Pekoe?’ ‘A cup!’ exclaimed Janet; ‘I think you had five.’ ‘I may come to tea again, mayn’t I, once in three weeks or so, like a boy who has a Saturday afternoon at home? Flossie likes me, you see,’ pleaded he jesuitically. ‘Well, you may come once a month, or so, if you happen to be in the neighbourhood.’ ‘Happen to be in the neighbourhood! I would cross the Balkan range in January to obtain such a privilege.’ ‘But remember you come only as my friend. If you talk to me as you have talked this afternoon, I shall ring for Sally, and tell her to show you to the door. It would be only a formula—as the street-door opens out of this room—but I should do it nevertheless.’ ‘There shall not be one word that can offend you.’