Mr Drelincourt took a backward step. “My lord! I—I protest! I don’t understand you! I went into the country on private business—purely private business, I assure you!”
“Private, was it?” said the Viscount, advancing towards him. “It wasn’t on business connected with jewellery, I take it?”
Mr Drelincourt turned ashen-pale. “No, no!” he gasped.
The Viscount whipped the pistol from his pocket, and levelled it. “You lie, you little viper!” he said through his teeth.”Stand still!”
“Mr Drelincourt stood rooted to the floor his fascinated gaze on the pistol. Sir Roland was moved to protest. “Not out of hand, Pel, not out of hand! Must do the thing decently!”
The Viscount paid no heed. “You picked up a ring-brooch in Lethbridge’s house the other night, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean!” chattered Mr Drelincourt. “A brooch? I know nothing about it, nothing!”
The Viscount pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the pit of Mr Drelincourt’s stomach. There’s a mighty light trigger on this pistol of mine,” he said. “It only needs a touch to send it off. Don’t move. I know you took that brooch. What did you do with it?”
Mr Drelincourt was silent, breathing rather fast. Sir Roland replaced his toothpick carefully in its gold case, and pocketed it. He strolled forward, and tucked his fingers into the back of Mr Drelincourt’s neck-cloth, and twisted it scientifically. “Take the pistol away, Pel. Going to choke it out of him.”
Mr Drelincourt, his throat already bruised from his cousin’s crushing grip, gave a strangled shriek. “Yes, I took it! I didn’t know how it came to be there—indeed, I had no notion!”