’I beg your pardon a hundred thousand times, my dear sir, but it strikes me you have the impudence—­in the circumstances, I may call it the indecency—­to appear cast down?’

‘It is true,’ said he:  ’I am.  I am cast down.  I am literally cast down.  I feel myself quite helpless against your cousin.’

‘Now, really!’ I asked.  ’Is this serious?  And is it perhaps the reason why you have gorged the poor devil with every species of insult? and why you took such surprising pains to supply me with what I had so little need of—­another enemy?  That you were helpless against them?  “Here is my last missile,” say you; “my ammunition is quite exhausted:  just wait till I get the last in—­ it will irritate, it cannot hurt him.  There—­you see!—­he is furious now, and I am quite helpless.  One more prod, another kick:  now he is a mere lunatic!  Stand behind me; I am quite helpless!” Mr. Romaine, I am asking myself as to the background or motive of this singular jest, and whether the name of it should not be called treachery?’

‘I can scarce wonder,’ said he.  ’In truth it has been a singular business, and we are very fortunate to be out of it so well.  Yet it was not treachery:  no, no, Mr. Anne, it was not treachery; and if you will do me the favour to listen to me for the inside of a minute, I shall demonstrate the same to you beyond cavil.’  He seemed to wake up to his ordinary briskness.  ‘You see the point?’ he began.  ’He had not yet read the newspaper, but who could tell when he might?  He might have had that damned journal in his pocket, and how should we know?  We were—­I may say, we are—­at the mercy of the merest twopenny accident.’

‘Why, true,’ said I:  ‘I had not thought of that.’

‘I warrant you,’ cried Romaine, ’you had supposed it was nothing to be the hero of an interesting notice in the journals!  You had supposed, as like as not, it was a form of secrecy!  But not so in the least.  A part of England is already buzzing with the name of Champdivers; a day or two more and the mail will have carried it everywhere:  so wonderful a machine is this of ours for disseminating intelligence!  Think of it!  When my father was born--but that is another story.  To return:  we had here the elements of such a combustion as I dread to think of—­your cousin and the journal.  Let him but glance an eye upon that column of print, and where were we?  It is easy to ask; not so easy to answer, my young friend.  And let me tell you, this sheet is the Viscount’s usual reading.  It is my conviction he had it in his pocket.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said I.  ’I have been unjust.  I did not appreciate my danger.’

‘I think you never do,’ said he.

‘But yet surely that public scene—­’ I began.

‘It was madness.  I quite agree with you,’ Mr. Romaine interrupted.  ’But it was your uncle’s orders, Mr. Anne, and what could I do?  Tell him you were the murderer of Goguelat?  I think not.’