Dillon panted.
“If I release you,” added O’Hagan icily, “it will be upon parole; upon the understanding that you conserve your resentment for a more fitting time.”
“Release me!”
“Upon that understanding?”
“Curse you! . . . yes!”
O’Hagan dropped his hands, stepped back to the little mantelpiece and leaned upon it, raising his monocle before his right eye.
“Sir Brian Dillon,” he said deliberately, “you may have heard my name; for I knew your father well.”
The other’s fingers twitched. He glared directly at O’Hagan, and thrust his hands deeply in his pockets.
“Your father would have known the gross nature of your insult to me. Strong man as you are, he would have forced you to apologise, or have knocked you down. Do your memories bear me out?”
Dillon swallowed, emotionally.