"But I tell you," I blazed, "you shall let Lady Rosemary know."
"And I tell you,—I shall not," he replied.
"Then, by God!—I'll do it myself," I retorted. "I give you two hours to decide which of us it is to be."
I made toward the door. But Harry sprang for his rapier, picked it up and stood with his back against my exit, the point of his weapon to my breast.
There was a wicked gleam in his narrow eyes.
"Damn you! George Brammerton, for a sneaking, prying, tale-bearing lout;—you dare not do it!"
He took a step forward.
"Now, sir,—I will trouble you for that letter."
I looked at him in astonishment. There was a strange something in his eyes I had never seen there before; a mad, irresponsible something that cared not for consequences; a something that makes heroes of some men and murderers of others. I stood motionless.
Slowly he pushed the point of his rapier through my coat-sleeve. It pricked into my arm and I felt a few drops of warm blood trickle. I did not wince.