“Very good, if you prefer it. By the way, Sir Charles, where is your man?”
“I would ask you that question, Sir Lothian,” answered my uncle. “Where is my man?”
A look of astonishment passed over Sir Lothian’s features, which, if it were not real, was most admirably affected.
“What do you mean by asking me such a question?”
“Because I wish to know.”
“But how can I tell, and what business is it of mine?”
“I have reason to believe that you have made it your business.”
“If you would kindly put the matter a little more clearly there would be some possibility of my understanding you.”
They were both very white and cold, formal and unimpassioned in their bearing, but exchanging glances which crossed like rapier blades. I thought of Sir Lothian’s murderous repute as a duellist, and I trembled for my uncle.
“Now, sir, if you imagine that you have a grievance against me, you will oblige me vastly by putting it into words.”