“I won’t talk any more about it,” said Cartaret. “Please have my mare brought around at once.”
“No,” Eskurola replied: “you shall talk no more about it. Mr. Cartaret, you must fight me.”
The American could not believe his ears. He recollected that when the Continental speaks of fighting he does not refer to mere pugilism.
“You’re crazy,” said Cartaret. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“So soon as you have passed that gate, you will be my guest no longer. What, sir, you may then want will not matter. You will have to fight me.”
Cartaret sat down. He crossed his legs and looked up at his host.
“Is this your little way of persuading me to stay awhile?” he asked.
“You cannot go too soon to please me.”
“Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me what it’s all about.”
Eskurola’s giant figure bent forward. His eyes blazed down in Cartaret’s face.