I
think you may be absolved of your promise. Gedge came to Sir
Anthony and myself with a lying story about the death of Althea
Fenimore."
"Yes," said he. "That was it."
"Sit down for another minute or two," said I, "and let us compare
notes."
He obeyed. We compared notes. I found that in most essentials the
two stories were identical, although Gedge had been maudlin drunk
when he admitted Randall into his confidence.
"But in pitching you his yarn," cried Randall, "he left out the
blackmail. He bragged in his beastly way that Colonel Boyce was
worth a thousand a year to him. All he had to live upon now that
the blood-suckers had ruined his business. Then he began to weep
and slobber--he was a disgusting sight--and he said he would give
it all up and beg with his daughter in the streets as soon as he
had an opportunity of unmasking 'that shocking wicked fellow.'"
"What did you say then?" I asked.
"I told him if ever I heard of him spreading such infernal lies
abroad, I'd wring his neck."
"Very good, my boy," said I. "That's practically what Sir Anthony
told him."
"Sir Anthony doesn't believe there's any truth in it?"
"Sir Anthony," said I, boldly, "knows there's not a particle of
truth in it.
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