The two men withdrew.  Major Shackleton scribbled a note and despatched it to Sir Palmes Fairborne, the Lieutenant-Governor.  Scrope took a turn or two across the room while the Major was writing the news which Knightley had brought.  Then—­“What game is this he’s playing?” he said, with a jerk of his head to the door by which Knightley had gone out.  “I have no mind to be played with.”

“But is he playing a game at all?” asked Wyley.

Scrope faced him quickly, looked him over for a second, and replied:  “You are a new-comer to Tangier, or you would not have asked that question.”

“I should,” rejoined Wyley with complete confidence.  “I know quite enough to be sure of one thing.  I know there lies some deep matter of dispute between Ensign Knightley and Lieutenant Scrope, and I am sure that there is one other person more in the dark than myself, and that person is Ensign Knightley.  For whereas I know there is a dispute, he is unaware of even that.”

“Unaware?” cried Scrope.  “Why, man, the very good friend I fought with was Ensign Knightley.  The woman on whose account we fought was Knightley’s wife.”  He flung the words at the Surgeon with almost a gesture of contempt.  “Make the most of that!” And once again he began to pace the room.

“I am not in the least surprised,” returned Wyley with an easy smile.  “Though I admit that I am interested.  A wife is sauce to any story.”  He looked placidly round the company.  He alone held the key to the puzzle, and since he was now become the centre of attraction he was inclined to play with his less acute brethren.  With a wave of the hand he stilled the requests for an explanation, and turned to Scrope.

“Will you answer me a question?”

“I think it most unlikely.”

The curt reply in no way diminished the Surgeon’s suavity.

“I chose my words ill.  I should have asked, Will you confirm an assertion?  The assertion is this:  Ensign Knightley had no suspicion before he actually discovered the—­well, the lamentable truth.”

Scrope stopped his walk and came back to the table.

“Why, that is so,” he agreed sullenly.  “Knightley had no suspicions.  It angered me that he had not.”

Wyley leaned back in his chair.

“Really, really,” he said, and laughed a little to himself.  “On the night of January 6th Ensign Knightley discovers the lamentable truth.  At what hour?” he asked suddenly.

Scrope looked to the Major.  “About midnight,” he suggested.

“A little later, I should think,” corrected Major Shackleton.

“A little after midnight,” repeated Wyley.  “Ensign Knightley and Lieutenant Scrope, I understand, immediately fight a duel, which seems to have been interrupted before any hurt was done.”

The Major and Scrope agreed with a nod of their heads.

“In the morning,” continued Wyley, “Ensign Knightley takes part in a skirmish, and is clubbed on the head so fiercely that Major Shackleton thought his skull must be broken in.  At what hour was he struck?” Again he put the question quickly.