The, cold logic of
his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that
Francis was right.
"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It
may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have
met and talked to this girl and. I tell you again that she is not
a principal in this affair but a victim!"
"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said
mockingly.
Desmond went rather white.
"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I
am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!
Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the
policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot
tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, but I've got
enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to
interfere with my orders!"
It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty
clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise
afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading
out onto the fen.
Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him.
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