'So—so, sir,' began the latter, 'so you, the heir to the estates and title of Fettercairn, actually tried to rob my simple son by means of a loaded dice till exposed by Major Garallan, to whom my warmest gratitude is due; the split fragments are now in my possession; but I presume it was not on that matter you came to consult me. And, not content with such vile conduct, you sought to taunt, bully, and inveigle the Major into a duel, in which perhaps your superior skill or cunning might achieve his murder. Duels, however, are out of date; but penal servitude is not, so beware, Mr. Shafto—beware, I say—there is a rod in pickle for you, I suspect.'
And as he spoke the keen, glittering eyes of the old lawyer glared at Shafto above the rims of his pince-nez.
'But you come to confer with me about your private debts, Mr. Shafto,' he added, lowering his tone.
'Yes.'
'You know the total amount, I presume?'
'Scarcely.'
'How so?'
'Well, when letters come to me I open the white envelopes and chuck all the d——d blue ones into the fire uninspected.'
'A sensible proceeding—very! How long can it go on?'
'I don't know—perhaps you do,' was the dogged reply.