Mr Rensley’s hand shook on his sword hilt, but it was not from fright. “To hell with your insinuations!” he cried. “You’d say I fear to meet you, eh?”
“I say, Mr Rensley, that you dare not meet me now or at any time,” Sir Anthony replied, to the astonishment of his friends. His hand came up, and he struck Mr Rensley lightly across the mouth with the glove he held.
There was a choked oath, and the rasp of steel scraping against the scabbard. Mr Rensley’s sword was out.
Galliano leaped in with his foil raised. “Ah, ah! Put up ze sword! Put up, I say! You go to make a scandal of me, ze pair of you!” he cried.
“I will fight you here and now, Sir Anthony!” thundered Mr Rensley, and flung his hat and cane aside.
There came a gleam into the grey eyes. “Give us house-room, Gally,” said Sir Anthony. “What a pity neither of us had time to acquire the Kiss!”
“Anthony, you’re surely mad!” Mr Molyneux’s voice was urgent in his ear.
“I was never more sane, believe me,” Sir Anthony assured him, coming out of his coat. “Lock the door, Gally.” He tucked up his ruffles. “There’s a letter in my desk, Molyneux, in case — . You’ll find it.”
“Fanshawe, I do beseech you — ”
“Pray don’t, my dear fellow; it’s quite useless. Gally, my friend, help me to pull off these boots, of your compassion.”