Mr. Cooke was puzzled at this change of front, and unused, moreover, to
that veiled irony of parliamentary expression.

"Talk English, my friend," said he.

"In plain words, sir, Mr. Allen is a criminal who ought to be locked up;
he is a menace to society. You, who have a reputation, I am given to
understand, for driving four horses, have nothing to lose by a scandal,
while I have worked all my life for the little I have achieved, and have
a daughter to think about. I will neither stand by Mr. Allen nor by
you."

Mr. Cooke was ready with a retort when the true significance of this
struck him. Things were a trifle different now. The tables had turned
since leaving the island, and the senator held it in his power to ruin
our one remaining chance of escape. Strangely enough, he missed the
cause of Mr. Cooke's hesitation.

"Look here, old man," said my client, biting off another cigar, "I'm a
first-rate fellow when you get to know me, and I'd do the same for you as
I'm doing for Allen."

"I daresay, sir, I daresay," said the other, a trifle mollified; "I don't
claim that you're not acting as you think right."

"I see it," said Mr. Cooke, with admirable humility; "I see it. I was
wrong to haul you into this, Trevor. And the only thing to consider now
is, how to get you out of it."