“A worthy programme!” observed Frazer suavely.  “You may attain the second part of your scheme, I admit, but the first seems to be difficult.”

“Is it?  We shall see!”

Capella flourished his papers and began a passionate avowal of the “treachery” practised on him in the matter of Margaret’s parentage, ending by saying: 

“That woman’s mother was the affianced bride of my father.  She deceived him basely.  On his death-bed he made me vow my lifelong hatred of her betrayer and all his descendants.  To you, a cold-blooded Englishman, that perhaps means nothing.  To me it is sacred, imperishable, dearer than life.  And to think that I have been tricked into a marriage with the daughter of the man who was my father’s enemy.  How mad I was not to make inquiries!  What a poor, short-sighted fool!  But I will have my revenge!  I will expose your accursed race in the courts!  I will not rest content until I am free from this snare!”

Margaret would have spoken, but her cousin quickly forestalled her.

“You bring two charges against your wife,” Robert said.  “The first is that she deceived you before marriage; the second that she is deceiving you now.  You contemplate taking divorce proceedings against her?”

“I do.”

“But you are lying on both counts.  There is no purer or more honourable woman alive to-day than she who stands here at this moment.  You are a mean and despicable hound to endeavour to take advantage of circumstances attending her birth of which she was in profound ignorance.”

“She can tell that to a judge,” sneered the Italian.  “I know better.”

Robert rose, his face white with anger.

“Margaret,” he said, “you have heard your precious husband’s views with regard to you.  What do you say?”

She looked from one to the other—­no one knows what tumultuous thoughts coursed through her brain in that trying moment—­and she answered: 

“I am his true and faithful wife, Robert.  I have never been otherwise in word or deed.”

Capella started, as well he might, when he heard the Christian name of the man who was treating him with such quiet scorn.

“So,” he laughed maliciously, “I have again been fooled.  You are not David, but—­”

Frazer strode towards him, and the words died away on his lips.

“Listen, you blackguard!” he hissed.  “Were it not for the presence of your wife I would choke the miserable life out of you.  Go!  We have done with you!  You have unmasked your real character, and I cannot believe that a spark of affection can remain in your wife’s heart for you after your ignoble conduct.  Go, I tell you!  Do your worst.  Spit your venom elsewhere than in this hotel.  But first let me warn you.  If you dare to approach Miss Layton, I cannot promise that my cousin David will treat you as tenderly as I propose to do.  He will probably thrash you until you are unconscious.  I simply place you outside this room.”