Billson was itself a serious thing, since it indicated that one or
the other of these gentlemen had committed a theft–”
The two men were sitting limp, nerveless, crushed; but at these
words both were electrified into movement, and started to get up.
“Sit down!” said the Chair, sharply, and they obeyed. “That, as I
have said, was a serious thing. And it was–but for only one of
them. But the matter has become graver; for the honour of BOTH is
now in formidable peril. Shall I go even further, and say in
inextricable peril? BOTH left out the crucial fifteen words.” He
paused. During several moments he allowed the pervading stillness
to gather and deepen its impressive effects, then added: “There
would seem to be but one way whereby this could happen. I ask these
gentlemen–Was there COLLUSION?–AGREEMENT?”
A low murmur sifted through the house; its import was, “He’s got
them both.”
Billson was not used to emergencies; he sat in a helpless collapse.
But Wilson was a lawyer. He struggled to his feet, pale and
worried, and said:
“I ask the indulgence of the house while I explain this most painful
matter. I am sorry to say what I am about to say, since it must
inflict irreparable injury upon Mr. Billson, whom I have always
esteemed and respected until now, and in whose invulnerability to
temptation I entirely believed–as did you all. But for the
preservation of my own honour I must speak–and with frankness. I
confess with shame–and I now beseech your pardon for it–that I
said to the ruined stranger all of the words contained in the test-
remark, including the disparaging fifteen. [Sensation.] When the
late publication was made I recalled them, and I resolved to claim
the sack of coin, for by every right I was entitled to it. Now I
will ask you to consider this point, and weigh it well; that
stranger’s gratitude to me that night knew no bounds; he said
himself that he could find no words for it that were adequate, and
that if he should ever be able he would repay me a thousandfold.
Now, then, I ask you this; could I expect–could I believe–could I
even remotely imagine–that, feeling as he did, he would do so
ungrateful a thing as to add those quite unnecessary fifteen words
to his test?–set a trap for me?–expose me as a slanderer of my own
town before my own people assembled in a public hall? It was
preposterous; it was impossible. His test would contain only the
kindly opening clause of my remark. Of that I had no shadow of
doubt. You would have thought as I did. You would not have
expected a base betrayal from one whom you had befriended and
against whom you had committed no offence. And so with perfect
confidence, perfect trust, I wrote on a piece of paper the opening
words–ending with “Go, and reform,” –and signed it. When I was
about to put it in an envelope I was called into my back office, and
without thinking I left the paper lying open on my desk.” He
stopped, turned his head slowly toward Billson, waited a moment,
then added: “I ask you to note this; when I returned, a little
latter, Mr. Billson was retiring by my street door.” [Sensation.]
In a moment Billson was on his feet and shouting:
“It’s a lie! It’s an infamous lie!”
The Chair. “Be seated, sir! Mr. Wilson has the floor.”
Billson’s friends pulled him into his seat and quieted him, and
Wilson went on:
“Those are the simple facts. My note was now lying in a different
place on the table from where I had left it. I noticed that, but
attached no importance to it, thinking a draught had blown it there.
That Mr. Billson would read a private paper was a thing which could
not occur to me; he was an honourable man, and he would be above
that. If you will allow me to say it, I think his extra word ‘VERY’
stands explained: it is attributable to a defect of memory. I was
the only man in the world who could furnish here any detail of the