A wave of scornful laughter went round the room as the question passed from mouth to mouth. Even the most ardent gamblers left their play to join the circle around us. English even in their vices, they took a fight for granted, but were up in a moment to see some fun.
The Marquess was disconcerted. He obviously felt that I was about to reflect on him in the gravest way; that, in short, I was backing out. He would be tarnished by the dishonour that had driven me out of the world of gentlemen.
"I think," said he, "that would be overstraining the privileges of an insulted gentleman." "Run away, farmer!" bellowed Sir Patrick raucously.
Tiverton looked disdainfully at him. "You may like to know, my lords and gentlemen," he said, as grandly as if he were reciting a set piece from the stage, "that on the night of his arrival from Boston my friend was rudely insulted in the Strand by a certain person." Here he stopped, whirled round on the hulking scoundrel, and added grimly to him, "I shall finish the story unless you leave the room at once."
Gee thought better of it and slipped off like a disturbed night-prowler.
"Thank you, my lord," said I very humbly, "for your decision. I hope my unavoidable ignorance entitles me to try again."
"Certainly," said he, but with unmistakable uncertainty.
I looked round the intent curious circle of faces and then at Brocton. On his face and in his cruel eyes there were the same gloating anticipations that were there when, in Marry-me-quick's cottage, he thought he was bending Margaret to his foul will. You could have heard a card drop in that crowded room.
My time had come to the tick. Stretching myself taut, I said slowly and distinctly, "Here. Now. Fists."
Brocton went limp and ghastly. I strode up to him, took him, unresisted, by the scruff of the neck, and then said curtly, "Open the door, Tiverton."