“Ho, ho,” said Curlew.  “That bites, eh?  Well, it will bite worse before it’s through with.”

Peter stood silent for a moment, but his hands trembled slightly, and any one who understood anatomy could have recognized that every muscle in his body was at full tension.  But all he said was:  “Well?”

“It’s about that trip of yours on the ‘Majestic.’”

Peter looked bewildered.

“We’ve got sworn affidavits of two stewards,” Curlew continued, “about yours and some one else’s goings on.  I guess Mr. and Mrs. Rivington won’t thank you for having them printed.”

Instantly came a cry of fright, and the crack of a revolver, which brought Peter’s partners and the clerks crowding into the room.  It was to find Curlew lying back on the desk, held there by Peter with one hand, while his other, clasping the heavy glass inkstand, was swung aloft.  There was a look on Peter’s face that did not become it.  An insurance company would not have considered Curlew’s life at that moment a fair risk.

But when Peter’s arm descended it did so gently, put the inkstand back on the desk, and taking a pocket-handkerchief wiped a splash of ink from the hand that had a moment before been throttling Curlew.  That worthy struggled up from his back-breaking attitude and the few parts of his face not drenched with ink, were very white, while his hands trembled more than had Peter’s a moment before.

“Peter!” cried Ogden.  “What is it?”

“I lost my temper for a moment,” said Peter.

“But who fired that shot?”

Peter turned to the clerks.  “Leave the room,” he said, “all of you.  And keep this to yourselves.  I don’t think the other floors could have heard anything through the fire-proof brick, but if any one comes, refer them to me.”  As the office cleared, Peter turned to his partners and said:  “Mr. Curlew came here with a message which he thought needed the protection of a revolver.  He judged rightly, it seems.”

“Are you hit?”

“I felt something strike.”  Peter put his hand to his side.  He unbuttoned his coat and felt again.  Then he pulled out a little sachet from his breast-pocket, and as e did so, a flattened bullet dropped to the floor.  Peter looked into the sachet anxiously.  The bullet had only gone through the lower corner of the four photographs and the glove!  Peter laughed happily.  “I had a gold coin in my pocket, and the bullet struck that.  Who says that a luck-piece is nothing but a superstition?”

“But, Peter, shan’t we call the police?” demanded Ogden, still looking stunned.

Curlew moved towards the door.

“One moment,” said Peter, and Curlew stopped.

“Ray,” Peter continued, “I am faced with a terrible question.  I want your advice?”

“What, Peter?”

“A man is trying to force me to stand aside and permit a political wrong.  To do this, he threatens to publish lying affidavits of worthless scoundrels, to prove a shameful intimacy between a married woman and me.”