"And furthermore," I went on, "he informed me that the Prince himself had given him the word to leave London until the affair had blown over."
Now while I spoke, Mr. Beverley had been regarding me with a very strange expression, his cheeks had gone even paler than before, his eyes seemed to stare through, and beyond me, and his hands were tight-clenched at his sides.
"Mr. Beverley," said I, "what ails you?"
For a moment he did not speak, then answered, with the same strange look:
"Sir Jasper Trent—is my cousin, sir."
My negro-head pipe slipped suddenly, and fell into the grass, happily without injury.
"Indeed!" said I.
"Can you not see what this means, sir?" he went on hurriedly. "Jasper will fight."
"Indeed," said I again, "I fear so."
"Jasper was always a bit of a fish, and with no particular affection for his graceless kinsman, but I am his only relative; and—and he hardly knows one end of a pistol from the other, while your cousin is a dead shot."