Dane was not the man to settle to a dull, respectable existence or to earn his bread without a little excitement.
A dangerous man, and the more dangerous from his enormous vanity and utter want of moral principle.
Having made Steel promise not to arrest him, nor to make any use of his revelations to endanger his own liberty, Dane cheerfully proceeded to betray those he had sworn secrecy to.
Wicked as was the gang, and evil as was the purpose of its formation, Giles could not help feeling a contempt for the traitor.
There should be honor amongst thieves, thought Ware. But Dane did not believe in the proverb, and explained himself quite complacently.
"I met Denham—as he usually called himself many years ago in Italy—at Milan," said Dane; "he had a house there.
His daughter—let us call Miss Anne his daughter, although I am glad to hear she is not—lived with him.
She was then about fifteen and was at school at a convent.
She and I got on very well.
I adored her for her beauty and kindness of heart.
I was starving for want of money, as my remittances had not arrived from America.
Denham took me in.
I made myself useful, so there was no charity about the matter."
"Still, he took you in," suggested Giles, "that was kind."
"A kindness to himself," retorted Dane. "I tell you, sir, Denham wanted what he called a secretary and what I called a tool.
He found such a one in me.
I don't deny that I did all his dirty work, but I had some feeling of gratitude because he rescued me from starvation."
"You contradict yourself, Dane."
"No, sir, I do not," replied the man, with true Irish obstinacy, "but I'm not here to argue about my conduct but to tell you facts."
"Facts we wish to know," said Steel, taking out his note-book.
"And facts I tell," cried Dane vehemently, then resumed in a calmer tone. "Miss Anne was all day at school.
Denham never let her know what a devil he was. He was always kind to her.
She thought him a good man.
Then thinking she might get to know too much, he sent her to a convent for education and removed to Florence.
There he called himself George Franklin.
He told me that he expected to get money by taking that name."
"Then he admitted that he was not George Franklin," said Giles.
"He never admitted anything.
At one time he would say that his real name was George Franklin, at another declare he was really Alfred Denham.
But he had so many names in the course of his career," added Dane, with a shrug, "that one more or less did not matter.
Besides, he was such a liar that I never believed anything he said."
"Not even about the Powell money?"
"Oh, yes, I believed that.
He was always swearing at some girl who stood between him and the money.
He mentioned her name once.
I was with him in England at the time, and set to work to find out.
I learned all about Miss Kent and her engagement to you, Mr. Ware."
"And you know all about the Powell money?"
"Yes.
I got the truth out of Denham at last, but he never told Miss Anne; nor did he ever mention Miss Kent's name in her presence; nor did he ever say to me that Miss Anne was not his child.
I never thought for a moment she was Franklin's daughter.
And for the matter of that," added Dane carelessly, "I did not know if he was really Denham or Franklin himself."
"But Miss Anne knew nothing of all this?" asked Giles.
"Absolutely nothing.
After she went to the Milan convent, Denham would not let her come back to him again.
He was afraid lest she should learn what he was and wished to preserve her good opinion.
She went out as a governess, and only rarely came home."
"And how did Denham earn his living?"
"Oh, he invented the Scarlet Cross Society.
He bought a yacht, and steamed to England from Genoa.