“It is easy to argue me down,” he said, “when I have no time to answer you. I will take your advice, Fosco⁠—not because I want it, or believe in it, but because I can’t stop here any longer.” He paused, and looked round darkly at his wife. “If you don’t give me your signature when I come back tomorrow⁠—!” The rest was lost in the noise of his opening the bookcase cupboard again, and locking up the parchment once more. He took his hat and gloves off the table, and made for the door. Laura and I drew back to let him pass. “Remember tomorrow!” he said to his wife, and went out.

We waited to give him time to cross the hall and drive away. The Count approached us while we were standing near the door.

“You have just seen Percival at his worst, Miss Halcombe,” he said. “As his old friend, I am sorry for him and ashamed of him. As his old friend, I promise you that he shall not break out tomorrow in the same disgraceful manner in which he has broken out today.”