promise obtained under threat of losing his life? Val did not think so—and yet, to him a promise was a sacred thing, something to be upheld at all costs, whatever the circumstances surrounding the giving of it. He could not lightly make up his mind to violate his word, though he knew Teck was a scoundrel who meant no good to Jessica, a man towards whom it was not necessary to he honorable.
Was there such a thing as being comparatively honorable? Were there shades of honor? Val had never thought so before. Either a thing was honorable—either it was the sort of thing a gentleman could do—or it was not. That was all there was to it. But now he was face to face with another phase of honor; he discovered that, perhaps, there might be extenuating circumstances to accompany the breaking of a man’s word.
It took a long time to get Val to this frame of mind, but he finally decided to stick it out as long as possible, and then, when he actually perceived that Teck or his associates really meant to put an end to his existence, to give in. He considered that such a promise was not binding; a promise of that sort made to a murderer and a scoundrel for the furtherance of his own nefarious plans, under threat of murder, was not the kind that a gentleman could be expected to keep. But he meant to wait until the last possible minute.
Night was falling when Teck returned. With him came O’Hara, the horsefaced one. He bustled into the room, indicating that he had not a moment to waste. A glance at the couch sufficed to show him that Val was still there, and that he was awake.
“Light up, O’Hara,” directed Teck, and in obedience the man addressed lighted one of the gas jets.
