Fergus Hume

“ But there is no virtue in yours, Mr. Hustings. I am condemned, already, and by a higher tribunal than any on earth.”
“What do you mean?” Dick was at once puzzled and startled.
“I mean—Cancer,” said Edith, pronouncing the sinister word callously. “No one knows—not even Aileen—that I suffer from cancer, that I have not long to live. For that reason I took to opium-smoking. I called it neuralgia,”—she laughed scornfully, “but now you know the truth.”
Hustings surveyed her with profound pity. He was no physician, but even his untrained eye could see the hints of approaching dissolution. ”

“ Hustings, Aileen is as dear to me as to you.”
“How do you know that she is dear to me?” asked Dick, flushing redly.
“Village gossip, your expression when you look at her, her expression when she looks at you. It’s my business to read faces. Anyhow,” Trant rose briskly, “it is just as well that she has a friend in you as well as in me, for her position is both difficult and dangerous.”
“She is as innocent as—as—Miss Danby,” retorted the young man, angrily, “and in some way I’ll get them both out of the difficult and dangerous position.” ”

“ Hustings bent forward to whisper the next sentence, “suppose, Miss Danby, the Scotland Yard authorities intervene?”
“They dare not arrest Aileen,” gasped Edith, passionately, “she knows nothing.”
“So she says; so you say,” said Dick with studied emphasis, as it was necessary to arouse her fears for the girl’s safety to the uttermost, “but consider the position. Two women living in a lonely cottage, both hating a man who has been murdered on their door-step, as one might say. It is only reasonable for an outsider to credit both with guilt.” ”