‘That is just why I sent for you, Sir Giles,’ I answered, replacing the rapier on the wall. ‘I want to tell you the whole story.’
‘Let’s have it, then.’
‘Mind, I don’t believe a word of it,’ said Geoffrey.
‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ said his father, sharply.
‘Mr Brotherton,’ I said, ‘I offered to tell the story to Sir Giles—not to you.’
‘You offered!’ he sneered. ‘You may be compelled—under different circumstances by-and-by, if you don’t mind what you’re about.’
‘Come now—no more of this!’ said Sir Giles.
Thereupon I began at the beginning, and told him the story of the sword, as I have already given it to my reader. He fidgeted a little, but Geoffrey kept himself stock-still during the whole of the narrative. As soon as I had ended Sir Giles said,
‘And you think poor old Close actually carried off your sword!—Well, he was an odd creature, and had a passion for everything that could kill. The poor little atomy used to carry a poniard in the breast-pocket of his black coat—as if anybody would ever have thought of attacking his small carcass! Ha! ha! ha! He was simply a monomaniac in regard of swords and daggers. There, Geoffrey! The sword is plainly his. He is the wronged party in the matter, and we owe him an apology.’
‘I believe the whole to be a pure invention,’ said Geoffrey, who now appeared perfectly calm.