“She has acted badly, I admit,” said the young man. “All the same, I think she is a better woman than you may think, Professor.”
“Think! think! think!” shouted the fiery little man, getting up once more to trot up and down like an infuriated poodle. “I think she is a bad woman, a wicked woman. To deceive me into thinking her rich and—”
“But surely, Professor, you wished to marry her also for love?”
“Nothing of the sort, sir: nothing of the sort. I leave love and such-like trash to those like yourself and Hope, who have nothing else to think about.”
“But a marriage without love—”
“Pooh! pooh! pooh! Don't argue with me, Random. Love is all moonshine. I did not love my first wife—Lucy's mother—and yet we were very happy. Had I made Mrs. Jasher my second, we should have got on excellently, provided the money was forthcoming for my Egyptian expedition. What am I to do now, I ask you, Random? Even the thousand pounds you pay for the mummy goes back to that infernal Hope because of Lucy's silly ideas. I have nothing—absolutely nothing, and that tomb is amongst those Ethiopian hills, I swear, waiting to be opened. Oh, what a chance I have missed!—what a chance! But I shall see Mrs. Jasher myself. She knows about this murder.”
“She declares that she does not.”
“Don't tell me! don't tell me!” vociferated the Professor. “She would not have written that letter had she known nothing.”
“That was bluff. I explained all that.”
“Bluff be hanged!” cried Braddock, only he used a more vigorous word. “I do not believe that she would have dared to act on such a slight