Dick was breathing quickly.  He stood close to Saltash, urged by a deadly enmity and still on the verge of violence, but restrained by something about the other man’s attitude that he could not have defined.

“Well?” he said curtly at length.  “What do you want to know?”

Saltash’s lips twisted in a faintly sardonic smile.  “Just one thing,” he said.  “Don’t speak in a hurry, for a good deal depends upon it!  If some kind friend—­like myself for instance—­had come to you, say, the night before your wedding and told you that you were about to marry Lady Jo Farringmore, would you have gone ahead with it—­or not?”

He asked the question with a certain wariness, as a player who stakes more on a move than he would care to lose.  The glint of the gambler shone in his curious eyes.  His right hand was thrust into his pocket.

Fielding was watching that right hand narrowly, but Dick’s look, grim and unwavering, never left his opponent’s face.

“Why do you want to know?” he demanded.

Saltash’s smile deepened, became a grimace, and vanished.

“I will tell you when you have answered me,” he said.  “But whatever you say will be used against you,—­mind that!”

“What do you mean?” Dick said.

“Never mind what I mean!  Just answer me!  Answer me now!  Would you have married her under those circumstances?  Or would you—­have thrown her over—­to me?”

Dick’s eyes blazed.  “You damn blackguard!  Of course I should have married her!”

“You are sure of that?” Saltash said.

“Damn you—­yes!” With terrific force Dick answered him.  He stood like an animal ready to spring, goaded to the end of his endurance, yet waiting—­waiting for something, he knew not what.

If Saltash had smiled then he would have been upon him in an instant.  But Saltash did not smile.  He knew the exact value of the situation, and he handled it with a sure touch.  With absolute gravity he took his hand from his pocket.

Fielding took a swift step forward, but with an odd twist of the brows Saltash reassured him.  He held out a revolver to Dick on the palm of his hand.

“Here you are!” he said.  “It’s fully loaded.  If you want to shoot a friend, you’ll never have a better chance.  Mr. Fielding, will you kindly look the other way?”

Dead silence followed his words.  The lamplight flickered on Dick’s face, throwing into strong relief every set grim feature.  His lips were tightly compressed—­a single straight line across his stern face.  His eyes never varied; they were almost unbearably bright.  They held Saltash’s with a tensity of purpose that was greater than any display of physical force.  It was as if the two were locked in silent combat.

It lasted for many seconds, that mute and motionless duel, then very suddenly from a wholly unexpected quarter there came an interruption.  Columbus, sensing trouble, pushed his stout person between the two men and leapt whining upon Dick, pawing at him imploringly with almost human entreaty.