“Open the door!” demanded Haverley, tensely.
Captain O’Hagan observed him with a kind of unpleasant curiosity.
“As a soldier, and as a gentleman, you cannot refuse, of course!”
“Open that door! Do you hear me? You are mad!”
O’Hagan swung the monocle, and smiled upon the rapidly-breathing Haverley with undisguised contempt.
“Captain Haverley,” he said, “Sir Roger Rundel is my friend; and whilst I live, any gay Lothario who seeks to gratify his vanity by compromising my friend’s wife shall find at least one obstacle in his path. You will either hand me a written undertaking to secure a transfer to the 5th, vice Captain Macklin, invalided—leaving for Burma on the 19th—or remove that obstacle. You quit this room upon no other condition.”
“Open the door!” roared Haverley, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth with animal fury. “Open the door! By God! I’ll clap you in custody before another hour has passed!”
“If you decline,” said O’Hagan, coldly, “I will ring for the door to be opened as you desire——”
Haverley drummed his right fist into the palm of his left hand and stamped upon the floor with his foot. He was literally gasping in his fury.
“—In order,” resumed the chilly voice, “that my man may thrash you. I offer you, for the last time, the satisfaction of a gentleman——”