"Jack Gardner," he demanded, "did you, at the instigation of Beatrice, concoct that story? Have I you to thank for it? You need not answer, Jack. I can read the reply in the expression of your face." He withdrew his hand from its detaining grasp upon his friend, and took a half-step backward; then, he added: "Jack, if we were anywhere else than in a public dining-room, I should resent what you have done bitterly—and by actions, not words. As it is, I demand that you instantly seek, and find, Burke Radnor, and retract whatever you have said, or inferred, during your conversation with him. I warn you, Gardner, that if one single line appears in any of the papers to-morrow morning on this subject I'll find a way to resent it, which will make you regret, all your life, your nameless conduct of to-night."
Gardner turned decidedly pale, not because of any physical fear he felt of Duncan, but in dread of the possible consequences of what he had permitted himself to do.
"Where is Radnor, now?" he exclaimed, quickly.
"I left him half-conscious, on the floor of the reception-room," replied Duncan, calmly. "I knocked him down."
"Good God!" exclaimed Gardner; and he turned and rushed away with precipitate haste.
Duncan went on toward the table at which Beatrice and Sally were seated, but as he approached it, a desire to hear the sound of Patricia's voice possessed him, and he turned abruptly toward that other table, occupied by Stephen Langdon, with his daughter and the lawyer.
Devoting a careless nod to the two men, Duncan addressed his fiancée, speaking loudly enough so that her companions might hear.
"Patricia," he said, "will you do me a very great favor? It is of vital importance, otherwise I would not ask it."
"Indeed?" she replied, raising her big, dark eyes to his. "Your question and your manner as well imply something that is almost tragic, Roderick. What is it that you wish me to do?"
"A very little thing, Patricia. Will you, for a moment, accompany me to the table where Beatrice and Sally Gardner are dining?"