“I perceive your sword in the corner behind you, your Grace!” snapped Jack, and flung over to the door, twisting the key round in the lock and slipping it into his breeches pocket.

To Diana he was as a stranger, with no laugh in the glittering blue eyes, and none of the almost finicking politeness that usually characterised his bearing. He was very white, with lips set in a hard straight line, and his nostrils slightly expanded.

His Grace shrugged a careless refusal.

“My dear Carstares, why should I fight you?” he inquired, seemingly not in the least annoyed by the other’s intrusion.

“I had anticipated that answer, your Grace. So I brought this !”

As he spoke Jack drove the sword he held into the wood floor, where it stayed, quivering.