"'My God!' he said. 'My own wife.'
"I leant back with the air of a man who had finished an interview. I looked at my wrist-watch.
"He stood up.
"I looked up at him brightly. 'Well?' I said.
"'Look here!' he spluttered. 'I don't stand this. By God! I tell you I want Hetty. I want her. I want her and I'll do what I like with her. D'you think I'll take this? Me? She's mine, you dirty thief!'
"I took up a drawing for an illustration and held it in my hand, regarding him with an expression of mild patience that maddened him.
"'Didn't I marry her—when I needn't have? If you wanted her, why the devil didn't you keep her when you had her? I tell you I won't stand it.'
"'My dear Sumner, as I said before, What can you do about it?'
"He leant over the desk, shook a finger as though it was a pistol barrel in my face. 'I'll let daylight through you,' he said. 'I'll let daylight through you.'
"'I'll take my chance of that,' I said.