"Especially as it so nearly concerns yourself," said Thorn sneeringly.
"Which part of it, sir?" said Mr. Carleton with admirable breeding. It vexed at the same time that it constrained Thorn.
"I'll let you know presently!" he said, hurriedly proceeding to the lower end of the room where some cabinets stood, and unlocking door after door in mad haste.
The place had somewhat the air of a study, perhaps Thorn's private room. A long table stood in the middle of the floor, with materials for writing, and a good many books were about the room, in cases and on the tables, with maps and engravings and portfolios, and a nameless collection of articles, the miscellaneous gathering of a man of leisure and some literary taste.
Their owner presently came back from the cabinets with tokens of a very different kind about him.
"There, sir!" he said, offering to his guest a brace of most inhospitable-looking pistols,--"take one and take your stand, as soon as you please--nothing like coming to the point at once!"
He was heated and excited even more than his manner indicated. Mr. Carleton glanced at him and stood quietly examining the pistol he had taken. It was all ready loaded.
"This is a business that comes upon me by surprise," he said calmly,--"I don't know what I have to do with this, Mr. Thorn."
"Well I do," said Thorn, "and that's enough. Take your place, sir! You escaped me once, but"--and he gave his words dreadful emphasis,--"you won't do it the second time!"
"You do not mean," said the other, "that your recollection of such an offence has lived out so many years?"