“I have a few questions to ask you.”
“Well, go ahead. I’ll answer them or not, as I like.”
“You’ll answer them before I leave this room! In the first place, how did you happen during the run after the cage practise to take the short cut through Beaver Pond Lane from Crescent Street to Fitch Street?”
The French youth had flushed, but now he suddenly became pale.
“I did nothing of the kind!” he declared.
“You are a liar!” said Hodge, without lifting his voice, still keeping his eyes fastened straight on those of the lad across the table.
Bertrand’s bosom heaved and his lips curled back from his teeth, which gleamed white and wolfish.
“You shall answer for the insult!” panted Defarge.
“With pleasure,” was the grim retort. “I think you must know by this time that I take special delight in thumping you.”
“I’ll not fight you that common way! You have not the skill of Merriwell, and you must meet me with rapiers!”