"You have a wife living."
"So you imagine, so she imagines; but it is a mere show. Iris is not my wife."
"You deceived her with a mock marriage?"
"That is about the size of it."
"What a consummate scoundrel."
"Don't use such pet expressions, my dear Keene, you hurt my feelings, you really do, I assure you."
"I expect to hurt your neck some time," retorted the detective, curtly.
"Oh, you do? Let me tell you, Mr. Keene, that that time will never come to you, never."
"It may come sooner than you imagine."
"I'll risk that."