"I forget nothing. I know that I am a guest in your uncle's house. Señor Luazo is the soul of honour, and his sister's child should—but never mind. Again I say you will write at my dictation—or you will blow out your brains here and now—Oh, no, you don't."
For with a snarling sound the young man had made a dash at the packet, but before it could reach the flames a hand closed like steel over his wrist.
"You understand me now—eh?"
"Yes, damn you, I understand that you, a guest of my uncle's, dares to spy upon me. I understand that."
"Is there, then, so little difference between a spy and—a cheat?"
Lieutenant Mozara sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands for a moment, then he reached out for the pen.
"What is it you want me to write?"
The other thought for a moment, drumming his fingers upon the polished surface of the little table. "How does it end—yes—'on the fifteenth of January 1908,' now add—'The hands were dealt by me, Gaspar Mozara. The cards were provided by me—and I won four hundred crowns. God be merciful to me a sinner.'"
With an oath the young man rose, throwing over the table in his agitation.
"I'll see you in he——"