"What time did Mr. Dane return last evening?"
"I think about a quarter to eleven, sir. He went straight to his room."
"That will be all now. Tell Mr. Dane I should like to see him."
Peters noiselessly withdrew.
A few minutes later Dane entered the room. Malcolm Sage gave him a keen, appraising look, then dropped his eyes. Dane was still acutely nervous. His fingers moved jerkily and the corners of his mouth twitched.
"Will you tell me what took place yesterday between you and your uncle?" said Malcolm Sage.
Dane looked about him nervously, as an animal might who has been trapped and seeks some means of escape.
"We had a row," he began, then paused; "a terrible row," he added, as if to emphasise the nature of the quarrel.
"So I understand," said Malcolm Sage. "I know what it was about. Just tell me what actually took place. In as few words as possible, please."
"A week ago I told my uncle of my engagement, and he was very angry when he knew that my fiancée was—was——