"Look here, Captain Wyngate," I exclaimed, hotly, "I am not going to be bullied. You and your friends have had all you will get out of me. I know you to be one of the biggest scoundrels in London, and if you interfere with me, look out for yourself, that's all."
"Indeed!" he sneered. "So you think you can trick me and get off scot-free, do you? Listen! If that money isn't paid in a week I'll have your life!"
"Don't talk rubbish," I interposed.
"Ah, you think yourself safe," he went on, in the same ironical tone. "You imagine the police will protect you, I suppose. You young idiot, your life won't be worth sixpence!"
"Touch me if you dare!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, you're quite safe now," he sneered. "I give you a week to think it over, and then, if the money isn't paid, look out. You have had fair warning."
"More than the man in Switzerland had," I suggested sarcastically, as Wyngate turned away.
He gave me one look of concentrated hate, and seemed about to speak, but checked himself, turned his back on me, and disappeared in the darkness.
"Bluff!" I said to myself. "What can he do?" And I continued my walk home.
I was quite as strong as Wyngate, and felt well able to hold my own if he attacked me. As to the idea of being murdered in the heart of London, it was preposterous. This kind of thing might happen among secret society men and weird foreigners handy with their knives; but Englishmen had nothing to fear, I assured myself, and several fellows to whom I mentioned the matter casually at the club agreed with me. I did not even think it worth while to tell Mr. Benedict of the meeting.