“I do,” said Beaumanoir, bluntly.
“But,” proceeded the Senator, with bland insistence, “you might have avoided the peril to your own life and the besmirching of the family name by the simple expedient of carrying out the behests of Ziegler and Company. You had every facility for pulling the job off without a breath of suspicion ever touching you.”
The diplomatic opening, the psychological moment, for which poor, blundering Beaumanoir had been hoping, had arrived. It would be uncharitable to suggest that it was proffered to him, as a card is “forced,” by an American gentleman with a taste for strawberry leaves; but be it as it may, Beaumanoir was not too dull to seize his chance.
“I might have done that—I was tempted to,” he blurted out. “In fact, I believe I should have done it if—if I hadn’t come over in the same ship with your—with Mrs. and Miss Sherman.”
The General, sitting up stiffly with his chin on the knob of his malacca cane, turned his head sharply to hear his old friend’s judgment on this amazing confession. It was pronounced with Trans-Atlantic briskness.
[327]
