"Moderation! Confound it! sir, are you laughing at me?"
"The Lord forbid!" ejaculated Crisp.
"Men have been shot for less than this."
"There's a pistol in that drawer," said the 'Bishop' wearily. "You can shoot if you want to. Your money can put me into gaol, as you say, and keep you out of it, if--if you use that pistol."
Mr. Carteret stared. The 'Bishop' was beginning to puzzle him. He stared still harder, and the 'Bishop' blushed; an awkward habit that he had never rid himself of. Now a country parson, who is also a magistrate, becomes in time a shrewd judge of men.
"Will you kindly send for my--for your partner?" he said suddenly. "Please sit or stand where you are. I think you'll admit that I have a right to conduct this inquiry in my own way."
Accordingly, Dick was sent for, and soon he took his stand beside the 'Bishop,' facing the flaming blue eyes of his father. Then Mr. Carteret asked him point blank the questions he had put to the other, and received the same answers, the 'Bishop' entering an inarticulate demurrer.
"It appears," said Mr. Carteret, "that there are two ways of telling this story. One of you, possibly, has told the truth; the other has unquestionably lied. I confess," he added dryly, "that my sympathies are with the liar. He is the honester man."
"Yes," said Dick. "I'm about as big a blackguard as you'll find anywhere, but I'm your son all the same. Father--forgive me."
One must confess that Dick played his last trump in a masterly fashion. He knew that whining wouldn't avail him, or any puling hypocrisy. So he told the truth.