"Are you going to tell me what you mean?"
"Certainly, if you insist; but is it wise?"
"Morgan, am I to knock you down?"
"You can try if you like; I dare say I can put up as good a fight as you can."
Again they seemed to gauge each other, eye to eye; Nash as if half beside himself with rage, Morgan all smiles.
"Will you tell me what you mean?"
Morgan looked away from the other's face, up into the air. He blew a ring of smoke from the cigar which he had lighted, following it with his eyes. Nothing could have been pleasanter than his manner, or more affable than his smile; he spoke as one who meditated.
"I happen to know that you borrowed certain sums of money from the late Mr. Donald Lindsay, for which you gave him notes of hand, amounting altogether to a little over a hundred pounds; a flea-bite to him, but a deal to you. When you were going through Mr. Lindsay's papers, on behalf of his daughter, you came upon those notes of hand; you put them into your pocket; you concealed their existence; in plainer words, you stole them."
"It's--it's an infernal lie!"
"My dear Nash, I saw you do it."