The next moment he staggered back, with a hand to his cheek.
"You little spitfire," he snarled, and then quite suddenly he stood very still. For Hugh's voice, clear and faintly amused, was speaking.
"Good for you, Colt. Now the other cheek."
The sound of a second blow rang through the room, and Hugh laughed gently.
"I—I——" stammered Fordingham. "There's been a mistake. I—I—must apologize. The wrong room——"
He stood cringing by the door, staring fearfully at Hugh, who had left his position by the chest of drawers, and was standing in front of him.
"You lie, you miserable hound," said Lethbridge, contemptuously. "You've made a mistake right enough; but it was not a mistake in the matter of the room. You deliberately planned this whole show, and now——" he took him by the collar, "you can reap the reward."
He shook Fordingham, as a terrier shakes a rat; then he flung him into a corner.
"Open the door, Colt," he said, quietly, "and we'll throw the mess into the passage."
The mess did not wait to be thrown; it gathered unto itself legs, and departed rapidly.