White was saved from deciding which horn of the dilemma he would land on, for a sharp rat-tat at the door induced silence, and a moment later Bruce’s voice was heard inquiring:
“Is Mr. Corbett in?”
“Faix, there may be a half-a-dozen of him in by this time,” cried Mrs. Robinson. “I dunno where I am, at all, at all. The gintlemen are in the parlor, sir.”
And Bruce entered.
In order to enfilade the new-comer scientifically, Corbett backed to the corner. Claude glanced at the three, saw the revolver, and said with a comical air of relief:
“Thank goodness, nothing has happened. Put away your pistol, Mr. Corbett; you will not need it.”
Although the barrister’s manner differed considerably from the brusque methods adopted by Mr. White, the American remained on his guard. He said stiffly:
“You all seem to know me fairly well; but if you had the advantage of closer acquaintance, you would allow that I am not the man to be rushed on a confidence trick. If somebody doesn’t explain quick I will lose my temper, and there will be trouble.”
“I sympathize with you!” cried Bruce. “But the first thing you must learn in this country is to keep dry cigars for your visitors. Our respective tastes differ in that respect.”
“I guess I’ll cotton to you, stranger; but I’m tired holding this pistol.”