"It was no accident, that tumble!" shrieked M. de Prailles. "It was a studied insult offered to a lady by a barbarian! Exprès, entendes-vous, messieurs, exprès?"
Then, seeing that his opponent stood motionless, the little Frenchman drew himself on tiptoes, and hissed out,
"Et il ne dit rien? Décidément, milor, vous êtes un lâche!" and he made a movement as though he would have struck Lord Ticehurst with his open hand.
But Plater Dobbs, who had been puffing and fuming and gasping for breath, caught the angry Frenchman by the arm, and called out,
"Holla, none of that! We'll produce our man when he's wanted. We don't want any rough-and-tumble here! Ally, party, mossoo!"
"Au diable, ivrogne!" was all the response which M. de Prailles chose to make to this elegant appeal; but he turned to some of his compatriots, and said, "Regardez donc la figure de ce milor là!" And in truth Lord Ticehurst was almost livid, and the chair against which he was leaning trembled in his grasp. At that moment Gilbert Lloyd stepped forward.
"There's no question of producing any man on this occasion, except a gensdarme," said he, addressing Plater Dobbs.
A hush fell on the little crowd--the Englishmen silenced by what they heard, the foreigners by the effect which they saw the words had produced. Only Dobbs spoke, and he said, "What the devil do you mean?"
"What I say," replied Lloyd; "it's impossible for Lord Ticehurst to fight this fellow," with a contemptuous wave of the hand at De Prailles. "I've long thought I recognised him; now I'm sure of it. I don't know what he calls himself now, but he used to answer to the name of Louis three years ago, when he was a billiard-marker at the rooms over the Tennis-court, just out of the Haymarket."
"Tu mens, canaille!" screamed M. de Prailles, rushing at him; but Gilbert Lloyd caught his adversary by the throat, and with every nerve in his lithe frame strung to its tightest pitch, shook him to and fro.