‘Oh, that would be telling tales out of school,’ said I, with a laugh, ‘and before my lawyer, too!’

‘I’ll wager,’ broke in Mr. Robbie, ’that, when you knew my client, Chevenix—­the past of our friend Mr. Ducie is an obscure chapter full of horrid secrets—­I’ll wager, now, you knew him as St. Ivey,’ says he, nudging me violently.

‘I think not, sir,’ said the Major, with pinched lips.

‘Well, I wish he may prove all right!’ continued the lawyer, with certainly the worst-inspired jocularity in the world.  ’I know nothing by him!  He may be a swell mobsman for me with his aliases.  You must put your memory on the rack, Major, and when ye’ve remembered when and where ye met him, be sure ye tell me.’

‘I will not fail, sir,’ said Chevenix.

‘Seek to him!’ cried Robbie, waving his hand as he departed.

The Major, as soon as we were alone, turned upon me his impassive countenance.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘you have courage.’

‘It is undoubted as your honour, sir,’ I returned, bowing.

‘Did you expect to meet me, may I ask?’ said he.

‘You saw, at least, that I courted the presentation,’ said I.

‘And you were not afraid?’ said Chevenix.

’I was perfectly at ease.  I knew I was dealing with a gentleman.  Be that your epitaph.’

‘Well, there are some other people looking for you,’ he said, ’who will make no bones about the point of honour.  The police, my dear sir, are simply agog about you.’

‘And I think that that was coarse,’ said I.

‘You have seen Miss Gilchrist?’ he inquired, changing the subject.

’With whom, I am led to understand, we are on a footing of rivalry?’ I asked.  ‘Yes, I have seen her.’

‘And I was just seeking her,’ he replied.

I was conscious of a certain thrill of temper; so, I suppose, was he.  We looked each other up and down.

‘The situation is original,’ he resumed.

‘Quite,’ said I.  ’But let me tell you frankly you are blowing a cold coal.  I owe you so much for your kindness to the prisoner Champdivers.’

’Meaning that the lady’s affections are more advantageously disposed of?’ he asked, with a sneer.  ’Thank you, I am sure.  And, since you have given me a lead, just hear a word of good advice in your turn.  Is it fair, is it delicate, is it like a gentleman, to compromise the young lady by attentions which (as you know very well) can come to nothing?’

I was utterly unable to find words in answer.

‘Excuse me if I cut this interview short,’ he went on.  ’It seems to me doomed to come to nothing, and there is more attractive metal.’

‘Yes,’ I replied, ’as you say, it cannot amount to much.  You are impotent, bound hand and foot in honour.  You know me to be a man falsely accused, and even if you did not know it, from your position as my rival you have only the choice to stand quite still or to be infamous.’