"Who, Perry?"
"Trenchard or Haredale or Devereux or whatever he calls himself. Come, give me the pistol. To-night I make an end of him and his deviltries once and for all."
For a moment Anthony blinked at me in foolish amaze.
"Why, Perry—why, Perry!" he exclaimed. "B'gad, can this be you indeed?" And then, as if quite sobered by what he read in my face, he fell back a step, brushed hand across his eyes, peered at me again, and his slouching figure grew erect and purposeful.
"Give me that pistol!" I repeated.
"No, Peregrine!" said he, his voice sharp and incisive. "Killing is murder, and I am your friend. But if you wish to fight a fellow, or say twenty fellows, b'gad, I'm with you! The more the merrier—so speak the word!"
"Yes!" said I. "Yes, I'll fight, but kill him I will—it almost seems preordained that I should kill him from the beginning—"
"And whom did you say he was, Perry?"
"Trenchard he calls himself hereabouts—the damnable villain who lives here at Raydon Manor."
"A duel!" quoth Anthony, smiling grimly. "If you fight, Perry, I fight; b' God, I'll find somebody to accommodate me one way or another—a duel, oh, most excellent! Ha, dooce take me, but you're right, Perry, I never thought o' this. Oh, damme, the very thing—I'm with you heart and soul, dear fellow, so come on."