'You shall hear from me, sir.'
'In what fashion—an action at law?'
'No; one perhaps you may shrink from.'
'Very probably. You don't mean a duel?'
'I do.'
'Where?'
'On the sands at Boulogne.'
'Fool! People don't fight duels nowadays, and if they did, I am not required to fight with a—swindler! That is the word, so let us hear no more high falutin. A man of honour, indeed!'
Garallan burst into a fit of scornful laughter, and Shafto, mad with rage and disappointment, was rushing to grasp the poker, when the former, in a moment, and before the apparently helpless Kippilaw could interfere, if able to do so, in any way, had struck his would-be opponent down, and wrenched from his left hand, which he tore open by main force, something that Shafto had attempted to put in his mouth, and which, on examination, proved to be—a loaded die.