"You're a cheat!" was the answer; on which the man so addressed suddenly and violently flung a half-empty tumbler of brandy and water at the other; it took effect on the forehead of his companion, who fell stunned from his chair, his forehead, which had been cut open, bleeding profusely. On this there was a general rush towards the spot. In the midst of this sickening scene the door was opened by Vice.
"Hollo—what's the matter?" said he, locking the door after him, and coming up to the group round the fallen and miserable man who had been struck.
"Who did it?" cried he, fiercely, on catching sight of the prostrate man.
"I did," answered the perpetrator of the outrage, "he called me a cheat."
"You did!" quoth Vice, suddenly grasping him by the collar, as with the hand of a giant, and forcing him, despite his struggling, down to the floor, when he put one knee on his breast, and then shook him till he began to get black in the face.
"D—n it, Vice, don't murder him!" cried one of the bystanders—all of whom seemed disposed to interfere; but at this point, the man who had been struck, and had been lying for some minutes motionless, suddenly began to dash about his arms and legs convulsively—for he had fallen into a fit of epilepsy. The attention of all present was now absorbed by this one dreadful figure; and the man whom Vice had quitted, rose flushed and breathless from the floor, and looked with a face of horror upon the victim of his ungovernable passions.
"I must get a doctor," quoth Vice, "presently," approaching the door; and in passing Mr. Aubrey, who sat down looking exceedingly agitated—"Oh—here you are!" said he: "come along with me."
"I hope this poor man will be properly attended to"——interposed Mr. Aubrey, very anxiously.
"That's my look-out, not yours," replied Vice, rudely—"come you along with me!" and, unlocking the door, he motioned out Mr. Aubrey, and after sending off a man for a surgeon, led Mr. Aubrey into a kind of office—where he was instantly clasped by the hands by Mr. Runnington, who had been there some five minutes. He looked like an angel in the eyes of Mr. Aubrey, who returned his cordial pressure with convulsive energy, but in silence, for his shocked and overcharged feelings forbade him utterance. Mr. Runnington looked both annoyed and distressed—for Vice had refused to discharge his prisoner on Mr. Runnington's undertaking, telling him the sum was a trifle too large for running any risk; and, in short, he peremptorily refused to do it without a written authority from the under-sheriff; and added, he knew it was useless for Mr. Runnington to make the application—for they had only a few months before been "let in" for eight hundred pounds in that same way—so that Mr. Runnington had better, said Vice, be looking after a good bail-bond. In a word, Vice was inexorable; and a hint of the possibility of Mr. Aubrey's flight to the Continent, dropped by Mr. Spitfire to the under-sheriff, had caused that functionary to advise Vice "to look sharp after his bird."