The BetrayalOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Betrayal
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories
"Come, there's been enough of this fooling," he declared roughly. "Guy,
sit down again, my boy. We must have another talk about this matter."
I turned upon him in a momentary fit of passion.
"I have no more to say, sir," I declared. "It seems that you are not
content with ruining your own life and overshadowing mine. You want to
drag me, too, down into the slough."
"You don't understand, my dear boy!"
The door opened and Ray entered. My bundle of papers slipped from my
fingers on to the floor in the excitement of the moment.
CHAPTER XXXIV
MYSELF AND MY STEPMOTHER
I Saw then what a man's face may look like when he is stricken with a
sudden paralysing fear. I saw my father sit in his chair and shake from
head to foot. Ray's black eyes seemed to be flashing upon us all the
most unutterable scorn.
"What is this pleasant meeting which I seem to have interrupted, eh?" he
asked, with fierce sarcasm. "Quite a family reunion!"
My stepmother, very pale, but very calm, answered him.
"To which you," she said, "come an uninvited guest."
He laughed harshly.
"You shall have others, other uninvited guests, before many hours are
past," he declared. "You remember my warning, Ducaine."
My father seemed to me to be on the eve of a collapse. His lips moved,
and he mumbled something, but the words were wholly unintelligible. Ray
turned to my stepmother.
"When that man," he continued, "had the effrontery to return to this
country, he sent his cursed jackal with letters to his son. I
intercepted those letters, and I burned them; but I came straight to
London, and I found him out. I told him then that I spared him only for
the sake of his son. I told him that if ever again he attempted in any
way to communicate with him, personally or by letter, nothing should
stay my hand. He had a very clear warning. He has chosen to defy me.
I only regret, madam, that the law has no hold upon you also."
She turned from him scornfully and laid her hand upon my father's
shoulder. Her very touch seemed to impart life to him. His words were
not very coherent, but they were comprehensible.
"I kept my word, Ray. Yes, I kept my word," he said. "I never sent for
him. Ask him; ask her. We met by accident. I told him my address.
That is all. He came here this afternoon with a message from the Duke."
Ray laughed bitterly. There was about his manner a cold and singular
aloofness. We were all judged and condemned.
"An invitation to dinner, I presume," he remarked.
"The Duke sent for me," my stepmother said, quietly.
She did not for a moment quail before the scornful disbelief which Ray
took no pains to hide.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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