"If I were you I should wait until the ring's clear before I put up my hands."
Quorn stared in front of him in gloomy silence. "Pretty darned mess it is," he remarked presently.
"It is. But it will clear up," said Peckover cheerfully. "That is if you give it time."
Quorn made a sour face. "Nice position for me——"
"If you will go engaging the affections of ladies from the Bush with short hair and muscular brothers," put in Peckover. "It's a mercy as it is that this other claimant cropped up. He has saved you a lot of worry."
"So they're after him?" asked Quorn with grim amusement.
"You bet. He had to stay in bed for a week to keep out of their way. Lalage has crossed over to be Lady Quorn, and she means business."
"The devil she does!" exclaimed Quorn uneasily.
"Just think," urged Peckover with telling plausibility, "what this other Quorn has saved you from. Dear old Carnaby has a rare hankering after experiments on people's physiognomies; trying how a man looks with his nose bent, his eye closed, and a tooth or two smudged out. He fitted his dooks once round my throat, and I can feel 'em there now."
"What was that for?"