Philip turned.
"I was merely about to ring for a glass of water."
The madman's suspicions were at once on the alert.
"A glass of water? What do you want with a glass of water? No! You sha'n't ring! you sha'n't!"
He brandished his weapon in a fashion which induced his nephew to take temporary refuge behind an arm-chair.
"Take care, sir! You will do yourself a mischief."
The Rev. Simon proved that he was, at least, in certain directions, sufficiently keen of apprehension.
"No, Philip, it is not myself I shall do a mischief to, it is you. You would prevent a servant of the Lord from doing his master's will; it is meet, therefore, you should die."
Philip braced himself for the struggle which seemed to him to be inevitably impending. But, as he paused, a sudden idea seemed to come into the Rev. Simon's disordered brain. His chuckling redoubled.
"No! no! no!--a better way!--a better way! Philip, you're a smoker; smoke one of my cigars."