"Go to hell," Cora muttered. "Yes, go to hell," said the man, apparently grateful for the lead. Harper stood nonplused, defeated. But he managed to say, feebly enough as it seemed to himself, "I don't know who you are, sir, but I'll thank you for an explanation." The man laughed insolently. "It's the limit," he said. At this point, Cora, by an effort verging upon the superhuman, sat up on the sofa. "Charlie." Her voice was a wheeze. "I want you to set about this beauty--to oblige me." "My God, I've a good mind to," said Charlie, who as he became more sober seemed to grow more dangerous. "I don't know who you are, my friend, but if you'll take advice you'll clear out." As the man spoke, his eyes looked particularly ugly. But among the things the Sailor had learned aboard the _Margaret Carey_ was the art of keeping cool in a crisis. "You've no right here at all, sir," said the man. "You ought to know that." "No right!" said Henry Harper, in astonishment. "If you are a wise man, you will go away. I was here first." "What do you mean?" "I came at the invitation of this lady, Miss Cora Dobbs, who is a very old friend of mine." The man turned towards the sofa. Cora nodded. But she was now bordering on a state of coma. "Who are you, sir?" Harper tried hard to keep his temper in spite of the man's calculated insolence. "Are you a relation of hers?" "A relation!" The man was taken aback. "We are both here for the same object, I presume." "I don't know what you mean, but this is my flat and I'll be very thankful if you'll quit." "Your flat!" A light seemed to dawn. The man turned to Cora: "Why didn't you tell me? I thought you were on your own, as you were before I went to Canada." To the man's clear annoyance, Cora had now reached a phase which forbade her to answer this question. He then addressed Henry Harper with a sudden change of voice. "She's not played the game," he said, half apologetically. "I don't know what you mean by that. I don't understand you." The man looked at him in astonishment. He then looked at Cora, who was half lying upon the sofa, mute, fuddled, and indifferent. "Come outside," said the man, in a lower tone, "and I'll explain." Feeling completely bewildered, Harper accompanied him into the passage. "I apologize," said the man, as soon as they got there. "But Cora is entirely to blame. There's no need to say she never told me she was living with you." "I don't understand," said Henry Harper. The man stared at him. He was at a loss. "Of course, I've known Cora Dobbs for years." He lowered his voice. "But I've been away in Canada. Before I went, I used to come here pretty regularly." As the man spoke, light came to Henry Harper. All at once, a chill ran in his veins. "But ... but she's ... she's my wife," he gasped, leaning heavily against the wall of the passage. "She's your _what_!" the man almost shouted. "She's my wife."