"Ye should ha' told me," repeated McDermot, doggedly.
"But I did n't know you were so interested in my goings and comings."
"You took my thousand poonds."
"Was that wrong?" asked Moore.
"Wrong?" echoed the publisher. "D'ye think I 'd give ye ten shillings for ye skin?"
"See here," cried Moore, his anger again getting the better of him, "my skin is not for sale, but, if you value yours, you had better keep a civil tongue in your head, you old Rob Roy."
Lord Brooking stepped forward between the two angry men.
"Am I right in believing that you are dissatisfied with your bargain, Mr. McDermot?" said he in a soothing tone.
"Dissatisfied? Dissatisfied! Why, at the present time Mr. Moore is the very worst investment in the literary market."
Brooking waved Moore back with an admonishing gesture.