Barclay contained himself with a desperate effort.
"My word, that may be truer than you think. I'm unhealthy to people who get in my way. Look here, Major Tristram—I don't want to use the screw—after all, we're Englishmen in a foreign country, and it's our infernal duty to hang together—but I won't be kicked out of things like that. I give you fair warning to leave my preserves alone, and I'll tell you why. I know things—I know something that would——" He stopped short. Tristram's eyes were still on his face. They had neither flickered nor lost their quizzical good-humour.
"Well, what do you know? It's rather funny, but we both seem to have found out something detrimental about each other. For instance, though this is only our second meeting, I'm convinced that you're a thorough-paced blackguard, Mr. Barclay."
"That may be. My father was one."
"I'm sorry."
"You have good reason to be sorry." His lips were quivering. He burst out ungovernably. "You have your share in him."
"Mr. Barclay——"
"Tristram—that's what my name should be. Your father was mine——"
"Is that your attack, then?"
Barclay put up his hand as though to hide his unsteady mouth.