Mr Drelincourt’s knees shook. “I protest, sir, I—I am at a loss! I—”
“Crosby, give me that brooch,” said Lethbridge menacingly.
Mr Drelincourt made an attempt to pull his arm away. “My lord, I don’t understand your tone! I tell you frankly, I don’t like it. I don’t take your meaning.”
“Crosby,” said his lordship, “you will give me that brooch, or I will take you by the scruff of your neck and shake you like the rat you are!”
“Sir!” said Mr Drelincourt, his teeth chattering together, “this is monstrous! Monstrous!”
“It is indeed monstrous,” agreed his lordship. “You are a thief, Mr Crosby Drelincourt.”
Mr Drelincourt flushed scarlet. “It was not your brooch, sir!”
“Or yours!” swiftly replied Lethbridge. “Hand it over!”
“I—I have called a man out for less!” blustered Crosby.
“That’s your humour, is it?” said Lethbridge. “It’s not my practice to fight with thieves; I use a cane instead. But I might make an exception in your case.”