Ralston’s eyes went to his face for the first time, shot a momentary glance at Tommy, and returned to the matter in hand.

“Don’t talk!” he said.

A few seconds later he got to his feet.  “Keep him just as he is!  I must go and fetch something.  Don’t let him speak!”

He was gone with the words, and Tommy, still feeling bewildered and rather sick, knelt in silence and waited for his return.

But almost immediately the husky voice spoke again.  “Tommy—­that you?”

Tommy felt himself begin to tremble again and put forth all his strength to keep himself in hand.  “Don’t talk!” he said gruffly.

“I’ve—­got to talk.”  The words came, forced by angry obstinacy.  “It’s no—­damnation—­good.  I’m done for—­beaten on the straight.  And that hell hound Monck—­”

“Damn you!  Be quiet!” said Tommy in a furious undertone.

“I won’t be quiet.  I’ll have—­my turn—­such as it is.  Where’s Stella?  Fetch Stella!  I’ve a right to that anyway.  She is—­my lawful wife!”

“I can’t fetch her,” said Tommy.

“All right then.  You can tell her—­from me—­that she’s been duped—­as I was.  She’s mine—­not his.  He came—­with that cock-and-bull story about—­the other woman.  But she was dead—­I’ve found out since.  She was dead—­and he knew it.  He faked up the tale—­to suit himself.  He wanted her—­the damn skunk—­wanted her—­and cheated—­cheated—­to get her.”

He stopped, checked by a terrible gurgle in the throat.  Tommy, white with passion, broke fiercely into his gasping silence.

“It’s a damned lie!  Monck is a white man!  He never did—­a thing like that!”

And then he too stopped in sheer horror at the devilish hatred that gleamed in the rolling, bloodshot eyes.

A few dreadful seconds passed.  Then Ralph Dacre gathered his ebbing life in one last great effort of speech.  “She is my wife.  I hold the proof.  If it hadn’t been for this—­I’d have taken her from him—­to-night.  He ruined me—­and he robbed me.  But I—­I’ll ruin him now.  It’s my turn.  He is not—­her husband, and she—­she’ll scorn him after this—­if I know her.  Consoled herself precious soon.  Yes, women are like that.  But they don’t forgive so easily.  And she—­is not—­the forgiving sort—­anyway.  She’ll never forgive him for tricking her—­the hound!  She’ll never forget that the child—­her child—­is a bastard.  And—­the Regiment—­won’t forget either.  He’s down—­and out.”

He ceased to speak.  Tommy’s hands were clenched.  If the man had been on his feet, he would have struck him on the mouth.  As it was, he could only kneel in impotence and listen to the amazing utterance that fell from the gasping lips.

He felt stunned into passivity.  His anger had strangely sunk away, though he regarded the man he supported with such an intensity of loathing that he marvelled at himself for continuing to endure the contact.  The astounding revelation had struck him like a blow between the eyes.  He felt numb, almost incapable of thought.