“I will,” returned the other, leaning forward across the table, and speaking in a low impressive voice. “What a liar you are!”

The honest witness rose, and made as though he would fling his glass in the man’s face. The man not wincing, and merely shaking his forefinger half knowingly, half menacingly, the piece of honesty thought better of it and sat down again, putting the glass down too.

“And when you went to that lawyer yonder in the Temple with that invented story,” said the stranger, in an exasperatingly comfortable sort of confidence, “you might have had your strong suspicions of a friend of your own, you know. I think you had, you know.”

“Me my suspicions? Of what friend?”

“Tell me again whose knife was this?” demanded the man.

“It was possessed by, and was the property of⁠—him as I have made mention on,” said Riderhood, stupidly evading the actual mention of the name.