I was half-way to the dining-room when I heard him say that. As I paused to look back he was still sitting sidewise on the edge of the table, swinging a leg and staring after me.
"No, sir," I said, quietly. "It takes two to fight, and I should never think of being one."
"You know, of course, that I shall have no mercy on you."
"No, sir; I don't."
"Then you can know it now. I'm sorry for you; but I can't afford to spare you. Bigger things than you have come in my way—and have been blasted."
Mrs. Brokenshire made a quick little movement behind his back. It told me nothing I understood then, though I was able to interpret it later. I could only say, in a voice that shook with the shaking of my whole body:
"You couldn't blast me, sir, because—because—"
"Yes? Because—what? I should like to know."
There was a robin hopping on the lawn outside and I pointed to it. "You couldn't blast a little bird like that with a bombshell."
"Oh, birds have been shot."