Pfyfe acknowledged the other’s understanding with a slight bow.
“It happened at a little party of which I was the unfortunate host,” he confessed modestly.
“Who was the man?” Markham’s tone was polite but firm.
“You will comprehend my reticence. . . .” Pfyfe began. Then, with an air of righteous frankness, he leaned forward. “It might prove unfair to Alvin to withhold the gentleman’s name. . . . He was Captain Philip Leacock.”
He allowed himself the emotional outlet of a sigh.
“I trust you won’t ask me for the lady’s name.”
“It won’t be necessary,” Markham assured him. “But I’d appreciate your telling us a little more of the episode.”
Pfyfe complied with an expression of patient resignation.
“Alvin was considerably taken with the lady in question, and showed her many attentions which were, I am forced to admit, unwelcome. Captain Leacock resented these attentions; and at the little affair to which I had invited him and Alvin, some unpleasant and, I must say, unrefined words passed between them. I fear the wine had been flowing too freely, for Alvin was always punctilious—he was a man, indeed, skilled in the niceties of social intercourse; and the Captain, in an outburst of temper, told Alvin that, unless he left the lady strictly alone in the future, he would pay with his life. The Captain even went so far as to draw a revolver half-way out of his pocket.”
“Was it a revolver, or an automatic pistol?” asked Heath.