"The truth about me?"
"The truth about you. You see, I happen to know a good deal about you. Oh, you needn't start. I have all particulars and proofs to the minutest detail. If you do not wish Miss Bolitho to know exactly the kind of man you are, what your responsibilities are, and your duties are, you must send a note to the editor, signed by yourself, declaring that there is no truth whatever in the announcement."
"You spy! You sneaking hound!" said the other, quite losing control over himself.
"Spy, if you like," said Paul. "Sneaking hound also comes well from such as you; but, as it happens, I have had my reasons for a long time for forming certain impressions about you; and as Miss Bolitho is a friend of mine—naturally, I take an interest."
"A friend of yours!" said Wilson.
"Of mine," said Paul. "Now then, will you do what I tell you?"
Neither of them knew that they were being watched, and neither of them knew that, although their conversation was not overheard, two men could hear angry voices, and were wondering what it could be about. These two men knew of the feud which existed between them, and knew that each hated the other.
"Will you write that letter, and give up all thoughts of such a thing for all time?"
Wilson answered in language which I will not set down. This time his words were loud enough for the two men to hear—words which were calculated to rouse anger in the heart of the mildest of men, and Paul was not a mild man. They saw Paul look towards the other with murder in his eyes, saw his hand uplifted as if to strike, then they saw him master himself.
"Very well, then," he said. "I shall do what I say," and turned on his heel to walk away.