"I hear, old chap—my God, if the man could only see——"
"Better blind—you would have killed him but for that, Arthur."
"It's true, Gavin, I would have killed him."
"And then—his friends. Better blind, Arthur."
Arthur said "Hush," for the sound of footsteps drew very near; and now they could hear the old Chevalier panting and shuffling and plainly approaching them. When he entered the room they perceived that something had occurred beyond the ordinary. The hand upon the stick quivered and trembled—the muscles of the forehead were twitching; there were drops of sweat upon the man's forehead, and his voice echoed the tumult of passion which shook him.
"One of you has written a letter to Bukharest," he cried hoarsely; "by whose hand was that?"
The two men looked at each other amazed. Neither had written such a letter nor knew aught of it.
"By whose hand?" the Chevalier continued, his anger growing as he spoke; "silence will not serve you, gentlemen. By whose hand was that letter written?"
Gavin now laughed aloud with a laugh that expressed both contempt and defiance.
"Had I written it, I would not have answered you," said he; "as I have not, your question merely arouses my curiosity."