“But what?” Danvers's voice was hoarse with suppressed fury.
“Stop visiting Mrs. Brabant whilst her husband is away. No gentleman would act as you have acted. You know what a place this is for scandal. And I believe you have as much of the fool as the roué in your mental composition.”
“And if I decline to entertain your infernal——”
“Steady. No language, please. If you decline to make me that promise here on the spot, I shall do what I have said—tell husband and wife that you're not the kind of man to receive as a friend.”
“And by Heavens, I'll shoot you like a rat.”
The doctor rose to his feet, and the two men faced each other—the one outwardly calm and collected, the other shaking with passion.
“What is it to be, Captain Danvers?”
“This, you sneaking Scotch sawbones!” and raising his cane Danvers struck the elder man a savage blow across the face.
In another moment Bruce had closed with him, wrenched the cane from his hand, and drawing back struck him between the eyes with such force that he was sent flying backwards off the verandah, to fall heavily upon the shrubs of the garden beneath, where he lay huddled up in a heap.
A score of people—white and coloured—rushed to the spot. Bruce, carefully standing the cane against the side of the lounge on which he had been reclining, walked down the steps and pushed his way into the little crowd surrounding the fallen man.