“As I have just told you,” Gifford returned quietly, “I would take that risk rather than allow Miss Morriston to remain longer under suspicion.  As for myself I should have every confidence in the result.”

“It is well to be sanguine,” Henshaw sneered.  “If you have not already done so, are you prepared to repeat your story to the police?”

“Most certainly I am, if necessary,” was the prompt answer.  “But I do not fancy you will wish me to do so.”

Henshaw’s look was one of surprise, real or affected.  “Indeed?  Why so?”

“I will tell you,” Gifford replied with a touch of sternness.  “Because it would be absolutely against your interest.  For one thing it would, short of absolute proof, leave still the shadow of doubt over your brother’s death, it would effectually put a stop to your designs on Miss Morriston, which in any case must come to an end, and it would show up your dead brother’s character and conduct in a very disreputable light.  Now what I have to say to you is this.  I know that, following in your brother’s footsteps, you have been subjecting Miss Morriston to an amount of very hateful persecution.  There may have been a certain excuse for it, at any rate a degree of temptation, but your designs have not been welcome to the lady, and they must forthwith come to an end.  Now unless you undertake to cease your attentions to Miss Morriston, in short to put an end at once and for all to this persecution, I shall effectually remove the hold you imagine you have over her by going straight to the police, giving them the real story of what happened in the tower that night and as a natural consequence shall give evidence to that effect at the adjourned inquest.  You will know best whether it would be worth your while to force me to do this.  I simply state the position.”

He waited for Henshaw’s answer.  The man was plainly cornered and seemed to be divided between a desire to let Gifford go on and place himself in a dangerous situation, and the more expedient course of raising a scandal which would touch him as well as disgrace his dead brother.

“This is a clever piece of bluff, Mr. Gifford,” he said at length; “but—­”

“It is no bluff at all,” Gifford interrupted firmly.  “I am merely determined to take the obvious course to save Miss Morriston from something a good deal worse than annoyance.  I have no wish to discredit the dead, but I must remind you that the persecution of Miss Morriston by your brother had gone on for a very considerable time, and had latterly developed into an atrocious system of bullying.  It is not an occasion for mincing one’s expressions, and I must say that in my opinion your own conduct has been very little, if any, better; and that will be the judgment of every decent man if the truth comes out, as come out it shall, unless you agree to my terms before you leave this room.”

For a while Henshaw made no reply.  He sat thinking strenuously, evidently weighing his chances, estimating the strength of his adversary’s position.  Now and again he shot a glance, half probing, half sullen, at Gifford, who leaned back against the mantelpiece coolly awaiting his answer.  At length he spoke.