They stood eyeing each other, challenging each other, gauging each other's strength and grimness.
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
Jeremy's eyes twinkled. He had been standing with hands clasped behind him. One hand had slipped itself into the tail pocket of his coat and was gripping the butt of a pistol.
He began to speak slowly, and very distinctly, looking at De Rothan from under frowning eyebrows.
"Mr. Frenchman, let us understand each other. I have two men over yonder behind the hedge; neither you nor yours can play any tricks with me. Now, I ask you, what is there to prevent me putting a bullet in your body?"
Jeremy had a pistol out, and, holding it at his hip, covered De Rothan with the muzzle.
"My good sir, this is like a stage play!"
De Rothan had nerve, and showed it in the casual way he glanced at the pistol, and then looked Jeremy in the eyes. Quick wit and audacity were divided pretty equally between them.
"Well, Chevalier, what do you say?"
"Of course, sir, if you wish to blow Mr. Benham's brains out——"