Saltash straightened himself with a lightning movement. They looked into each other's eyes for several tense seconds. Then, though no word has passed between them, Dick's hand fell.
"That's better," said Saltash. "You're getting quite civil. Look here, my bully boy! I'll tell you something—and you'd better listen carefully, for there's a hidden meaning to it. You're the biggest ass that ever trod this earth. There!"
He put up a hand to his crumpled collar and straightened it, still with his eyes upon Dick's face.
"Got that?" he asked abruptly. "Well, then, I'll tell you something else. I've got a revolver in my pocket. I put it there in case the miners needed any persuasion, but you shall have it to shoot me with—and no doubt Mr. Fielding will kindly turn his back while you do it—if you will answer—honestly—one question I should like to put to you first. Is it a deal?"
Dick was breathing quickly. He stood close to Saltash, urged by a deadly enmity and still on the verge of violence, but restrained by something about the other man's attitude that he could not have defined.
"Well?" he said curtly at length. "What do you want to know?"
Saltash's lips twisted in a faintly sardonic smile. "Just one thing," he said. "Don't speak in a hurry, for a good deal depends upon it! If some kind friend—like myself for instance—had come to you, say, the night before your wedding and told you that you were about to marry Lady Jo Farringmore, would you have gone ahead with it—or not?"
He asked the question with a certain wariness, as a player who stakes more on a move than he would care to lose. The glint of the gambler shone in his curious eyes. His right hand was thrust into his pocket.
Fielding was watching that right hand narrowly, but Dick's look, grim and unwavering, never left his opponent's face.
"Why do you want to know?" he demanded.