Miss Linderham turned to go.
"Stop a moment," cried Heckle; "do you know who this man is?"
Miss Linderham stopped, but did not answer.
"I'll tell you who he is: he is a hired guest. My father pays five guineas for his presence here to-night, and every place you have met him, he has been there on hire. That's the kind of man Lord Stansford is. I told you I should expose you. Now I am going to tell the others."
Lord Stansford's face was as white as paper. His teeth were clinched, and taking one quick step forward, he smote Heckle fair between the two eyes and felled him to the ground.
"You cur!" he cried. "Get up, or I shall kick you, and hate myself ever after for doing it."
Young Heckle picked himself up, cursing under his breath.
"I'll settle with you, my man," he cried; "I'll get a policeman. You'll spend the remainder of this night in the cells."
"I shall do nothing of the sort," answered Lord Stansford, catching him by both wrists with an iron grasp. "Now pay attention to me, Billy Heckle: you feel my grip on your wrist; you felt my blow in your face, didn't you? Now you go into the house by whatever back entrance there is, go to your room, wash the blood off your face, and stay there, otherwise, by God, I'll break both of your wrists as you stand here," and he gave the wrists a wrench that made the other wince, big and bulky as he was.
"I promise," said Heckle.