I should advise you to close with
such an offer."
"Still the jest does not appeal to me."
"No?"
"You want Mistress Lanison--"
"Released," Rosmore interrupted sharply.
"She shall be, but in my own fashion."
"In mine, I think," said Rosmore quietly.
Marriott rose to his feet again, his face purple with anger. A string of
oaths and invectives poured suddenly from his lips.
"You are not in court, Marriott, and I am not a prisoner," said Rosmore
quietly. "Do you happen to remember a prisoner who was tried some months
ago? Was his name Josiah Popplewell?"
The judge was suddenly silent, and his purple face became livid.
"He was a rich merchant in the City, I fancy, full of crime and treason,
and, moreover, very wealthy. His wealth was tempting to--let us say to
those in high authority, and there was plenty of evidence against him,
manufactured, perhaps, but still apparently irrefutable. At the crucial
moment, however, there came forward a witness who, in the clearest
manner, was able to prove that the evidence was false, and Popplewell
got off. That is the case from the world's point of view. But there was
another side to it.
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