"Yes, I know you," said he, putting his marker in the place as Stingaree entered, boots in one hand and something else in the other. "I thought we should meet again. Do you mind putting that thing back in your pocket?"
Stingaree knocked in vain.
"Will you promise not to call a soul?"
"Oh, dear, yes."
"You weren't expecting me, were you?" cried Stingaree, suspiciously.
"I've been expecting you for months," returned the Bishop. "You knew my address, but I hadn't yours. We were bound to meet again."
Stingaree smiled as he took his revolver by the barrel and carried it across the room to Dr. Methuen.
"What's that for? I don't want it; put it in your own pocket. At least I can trust you not to take my life in cold blood."