Faugh! My lord turned to throw open a window, and came face to face with the dead man's son.
It might have been an embarrassing situation for most, but Jack Denningham was noted for his sang-froid.
"In good time," quoth he. "My condolences and congratulations, Sir Michael. The loss of a father is not always a bereavement his heir finds it hard to bear."
One swift glance towards the hearth, then back at the sneering, smiling face before him.
"I await explanations," said Michael sternly.
Denningham burst into a loud laugh.
"Stap me, sir, but you take it coolly," quoth he. "One would almost have thought you were prepared for the blow."
"As I am to find the striker," replied Michael coldly.
"Ha, ha! You do me the honour of suspecting my hand in the matter? A pretty compliment, my young friend. May I repay it?"
The speaker's tone was yet more insolent. Michael looked his adversary full in the face. Perhaps he guessed why my lord was so ready to pick a quarrel.