I looked at him for a minute, with a slightly thoughtful smile.
"My dear Maurice," I said at last, "if you only had a little more courage, you'd be a really remarkable rascal. As it is—" I shrugged my shoulders and began to walk towards him.
He turned pale and stepped back.
"If you attempt to make any disturbance here—" he began.
"Oh, shut up!" I said good-humouredly, and reaching forward I caught him by the collar.
He squirmed furiously. "Send for the police," he bellowed, "send for the police!"
"You can send for the whole British Army, if you like," I observed, shaking him into something like silence. "Now listen to me, Maurice. Your cousin may have been a scoundrel, but, at all events, he trusted you, and you sold him—sold him like the dirty little Judas Iscariot you are. Besides that, you did your best to get me murdered."
"It's not true," he gurgled.
"Yes, it is," I replied. "Don't contradict me, or I shall get annoyed. Not only did you try to have me murdered at Ashton, but you told the most unblushing lies about me to the police." Here I lifted him up and shook him again till his teeth rattled. "Now, Maurice," I added, "people who behave to me like that are asking for trouble. Guarez has got it, Rojas has got it, and I've just been squaring matters with our mutual friend Sangatte."
"Look here," he gasped, "you're mistaken; on my honour you are. It's no good being violent. If you want money—"