Thus, in a gay and innocent spirit of youthful courtship, commenced the feud, the vendetta, that was to lead to such a tragic influence on two generations of the “Reymingtounes.”
From this apparently trivial incident there followed the events that led to the murder of Sir Henry, and the degradation of his son, pursued and attacked by the unrelenting hatred of the denizens of this Oriental inferno.
In harsh but cultured tones, with a slight foreign accent, the sinister man said to Sir Henry:
“Return to me, at once, the charm that young woman handed to you.”
Sir Henry reclined on the richly-covered divan among the silken cushions, and leisurely surveyed the two men who confronted him. Slowly, and with the aggravated drawl of the period, he said: “By what right do you make that request?”
The retort came fiercely.
“Give me the charm at once, or it will be the worse for you, sir.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind,” and, rising from the divan, Sir Henry displayed the full six feet of his athletic frame, asking: “What do you propose to do?”
With an oath, the sinister man with the weird eyes, muttered: “Sacré! These Englishmen, with all their arrogant pride, are curs!”
He said no more for a while, for Sir Henry’s straight left shot between those mysterious eyes and the sinister man fell back on the floor senseless. The debauched but still good-looking Englishman exclaimed weakly: “Oh, I say! That won’t do, you know.”