The man's swarthy rage added force to the taunt. David Hume leaped up, but
Brett anticipated him, gripping his arm firmly, and without ostentation.

Margaret, too, had risen. She appeared to be battling with some powerful
emotion, choking back a fierce impulse. For an instant the situation was
electrical. Then the woman's clear tones rang through the room.

"I am mistress here," she cried, "Giovanni, remain silent or leave us. How
dare you, of all men, speak thus to my cousin?"

Certainly the effect of the barrister's straightforward statement was
unlooked-for. But Brett felt that a family quarrel would not further his
object at that moment. It was necessary to stop the imminent outburst, for
David Hume and Giovanni Capella were silently challenging each other to
mortal combat. What a place of ill-omen to the descendants of the Georgian
baronet was this sun-lit library with its spacious French windows!

"Of course," said the barrister, speaking as quietly as if he were
discussing the weather, "such a topic is an unpleasant one. It is,
however, unavoidable. My young friend here is determined, at all costs, to
discover the secret of Sir Alan's murder. It is imperative that he should
do so. The happiness of his whole life depends upon his success. Until
that mystery is solved he cannot marry the woman he loves."

"Do you mean Helen Layton?" Margaret's syllables might have been so many
mortal daggers.

"Yes."