But he went on down into the hall, where a low murmur of voices told him that his visitors were in the drawing-room.
What followed was a matter of a minute or two.
He entered the room quickly, his coming having been unheard; and Cousin Thompson, who was speaking earnestly to the two gentlemen from town, started quickly away and then said hastily:
“Ah, North! Why, you seem better. Let me get you a chair. You want no introductions, and I’ll leave you together.”
He approached North with a chair, and the latter took it, gazing keenly at the visitors the while; but as Thompson was passing he caught him by the collar and checked him, holding him fast, as he threw the chair from him with a crash.
Thompson turned white as so much curd, and tried for a moment to extricate himself, but his cousin’s grasp was like iron, and he turned a pitiable face to the two visitors, the taller of whom advanced quickly.
“My dear Dr North,” he said, “pray be calm. Another seat, my dear sir; pray sit down.”
North seemed as if he had not heard him. He had searchingly gazed from one to the other, and then his eyes appeared to blaze as his left hand joined his right at Thompson’s throat.
“You cursed, treacherous, cowardly hound!” he literally yelled, and dashing him backward, so that he fell with a crash against a table, which was overturned, North strode from the room without another word, and made the house echo with the bang he gave the door.
Thompson did not attempt to rise till the visitors held out their hands to assist him to a couch.