lied to me. You have given me feigned names. You have decoyed me to
your house under false pretences. And I recognise you now. I know
you in all your baseness. You're my father's murderer! Don't hope to
escape by playing on my feelings. I'd deserve to be murdered myself,
if I could act like that! I'm on my way to the police-office, to
give you in custody on the charge of murdering Vivian Callingham at
Woodbury!"

He jumped up again, all anxiety.

"Oh, no, you mustn't walk!" he cried, laying his hand upon my arm.
"Give me up, if you like; but wait till the buggy comes back, and
Elsie'll drive you round with me. You're not fit to go a step as you
are at present... Oh! what shall I ever do, though. You're so weak
and ill. Elsie'll never allow it."

"Elsie'll never allow WHAT?" I asked; though I felt it was rather
more grotesque than undignified and inconsistent thus to parley and
make terms with my father's murderer. Though, to be sure, it was
Jack, and I couldn't bear to refuse him.

He kept his hand on my arm with an air of authority.

"Una, my child," he said, thrusting me back--and even at that
moment of supreme horror, a thrill ran all through my body at his
touch and his words--"you MUSTN'T go out of this house as you are
this minute. I refuse to allow it. I'm your doctor, and I forbid it.
You're under my charge, and I won't let you stir. If I did, I'd be
responsible."