In the end, however, the primary desire for vengeance and vengeance of the bitterest kind proved master of his mind. Captain Tremayne had been led by his villainy into a coil that should presently crush him, and Sir Terence promised himself an infinite balm for his outraged honour in the entertainment which the futile struggles of the victim should provide. With Captain Tremayne lay the cruel choice of submitting in tortured silence to his fate, or of turning craven and saving his miserable life by proclaiming himself a seducer and a betrayer. It should be interesting to observe how the captain would decide, and his punishment was certain whatever the decision that he took. Sir Terence came to breakfast in the open, grey-faced and haggard, but miraculously composed for a man who had so little studied the art of concealing his emotions. Voice and glance were calm as he gave a good-morning to his wife and to Miss Armytage. “What are you going to do about Ned?” was one of his wife’s first questions. It took him aback. He looked askance at her, marvelling at the steadiness with which she bore his glance, until it occurred to him that effrontery was an essential part of the equipment of all harlots. “What am I going to do?” he echoed. “Why, nothing. The matter is out of my hands. I may be asked to give evidence; I may even be called to sit upon the court-martial that will try him. My evidence can hardly assist him. My conclusions will naturally be based upon the evidence that is laid before the court.” Her teaspoon rattled in her saucer. “I don’t understand you, Terence. Ned has always been your best friend.” “He has certainly shared everything that was mine.” “And you know,” she went on, “that he did not kill Samoval.” “Indeed?” His glance quickened a little. “How should I know that?” “Well... I know it, anyway.” He seemed moved by that statement. He leaned forward with an odd eagerness, behind which there was something terrible that went unperceived by her. “Why did you not say so before? How do you know? What do you know?” “I am sure that he did not.” “Yes, yes. But what makes you so sure? Do you possess some knowledge that you have not revealed?” He saw the colour slowly shrinking from her cheeks under his burning gaze. So she was not quite shameless then, after all. There were limits to her effrontery. “What knowledge should I possess?” she filtered. “That is what I am asking.” She made a good recovery. “I possess the knowledge that you should possess yourself,” she told him. “I know Ned for a man incapable of such a thing. I am ready to swear that he could not have done it.” “I see: evidence as to character.” He sank back into his chair and thoughtfully stirred his chocolate. “It may weigh with the court. But I am not the court, and my mere opinions can do nothing for Ned Tremayne.” Her ladyship looked at him wildly. “The court?” she cried. “Do you mean that I shall have to give evidence?”