“And you are right, egad!” cried Lord Ostermore, advancing. “Harkee, you dirty spy, this is no way to deal with gentlemen. Be off, now, and take your carrion-crows with you, or I'll have my grooms in with their whips to you.”
“To me?” roared Green. “I represent the Secretary of State.”
“Ye'll represent a side of raw venison if you tarry here,” the earl promised him. “D'ye dare look me in the eye? D'ye dare, ye rogue? D'ye know who I am? And don't wag that pistol, my fine fellow! Be off, now! Away with you!”
Mr. Green looked his name. The rosiness was all departed from his cheeks; he quivered with suppressed wrath. “If I go—giving way to constraint—what shall you say to my Lord Carteret?” he asked.
“What concern may that be of yours, sirrah?''
“It will be some concern of yours, my lord.”
Mr. Caryll interposed. “The knave is right,” said he. “It were to implicate your lordship. It were to give color to his silly suspicions. Let him make his search. But be so good as to summon my valet. He shall hand you my garments that you may do your will upon them. But unless you justify yourself by finding the letter you are seeking, you shall have to reckon with the consequences of discomposing a gentleman for nothing. Now, sir! Is it a bargain?” Mr. Green looked him over, and if he was shaken by the calm assurance of Mr. Caryll's tone and manner, he concealed it very effectively. “We'll make no bargains,” said he. “I have my duty to do.” He signed to one of the bailiffs. “Fetch the gentleman's servant,” said he.
“So be it,” said Mr. Caryll. “But you take too much upon yourself, sir. Your duty, I think, would have been to arrest me and carry me to Lord Carteret's, there to be searched if his lordship considered it necessary.”
“I have no cause to arrest you until I find it,” Mr. Green snapped impatiently.
“Your logic is faultless.”