"Then the assistant concierge is an ass, like yourself," he said. "There are two of you, and this hotel is no place for such a team."
Trascott pushed forward the marker he had procured.
"Come, monsieur," said the marker. "I think there are better places than this for you."
The stranger whirled and savagely struck away the persuading fingers with which the polite Frenchman had grasped his arm.
"Look out for yourself," he stormed, "or I'll have the manager pack you off to-morrow, my fine fellow. Let me tell you that you can't turn men of my standing into the street. I have engaged rooms and paid for them in advance, and I'll go where I d–d please in this hotel–and do what I please also!"
"No, you won't, my friend," warned Ainsworth, tapping him on the shoulder with quiet determination. "You won't come in here twice to insult me and interrupt my play. Just keep that in your muddled mind!"
"I was informed that you were a certain Britton I was searching for," said the other bluntly, in the spirit of rude apology.
"Do I look like Britton?" cried the lawyer, testily. "I stand five feet six, while Britton stands six feet one. I weigh one hundred and fifty pounds; Britton weighs two hundred and ten. Britton dances in the ballroom with the ladies and brings them ices, but I play billiards with a curate. I ask you again, do I resemble him? No, you say. And I'll tell you something else, too! Britton wouldn't have suffered your impudence for this length of time. He's a quick-blooded beggar, and he'd have jolly well twisted your neck by now."
"Will you come out, sir?" begged the marker, making a second attempt, at the importunations of Trascott.
The stranger eyed him and raised a hand as if to strike, then diverted the hand to his waistcoat pocket and threw his card on the table.