"You were pleased to say today that it was proof of a God in heaven
that I had suffered misfortune. Sure, will you deny that the same
God hath protected me against your father's----"
"My father!" she repeated questioningly.
"Well, what is he!" I returned cuttingly. "Mayhap you have some pet
name for a parent who practises assassination."
"You have no right to say that, sir," she said with spirit.
"No right! Did not you yourself say Tom never acted without orders!"
"But----"
"And furthermore, if this case is not enough, let me tell you that
this man here"--I pointed to Murray; for some reason I disliked to
call him her father, even in wrath--"set a gang of ruffians to murder
a friend of mine in London."
"Do you know that for a fact, sir!" die demanded with her unflinching
gravity.
"I do."
Murray rose from his seat behind the table.
"Your proof, sir?" he asked coldly.
"Proof!" I answered weakly. "Why, I was there!"
"Aye, sir," he rejoined with dignity. "But your proof that I hired
assassins?"