th any
regularity."

He waved me to a chair in a slow, sweeping gesture, timed and directed so
that it ended at the rum decanter.

"You will pardon my addressing you through Brutus," he continued
confidentially, "but it is a habit of mine which I find it hard to break.
I am eccentric, my son. I never speak to anyone of a morning till I have
finished my cup of chocolate. I have seen too many quarrels flare up over
an empty stomach."

He stretched a foot nearer the blaze, and smiled comfortably at the
hissing back log.

"And it would be a pity to have a falling out on such a morning as this,
a very great pity, to be sure."

The very thought of it seemed to give him pause for pleased, though
thoughtful contemplation, for he sipped his rum in silence until the
tumbler was half empty.

"Once in Bordeaux," he volunteered at last, "there was a man whom I fear
I provoked quite needlessly--all because I was walking in the garden with
a headache, and my chocolate was late--Lay out the other shirt, Brutus, I
must be well dressed today. What was it I was saying?"

"That you were walking in the garden with a headache," I reminded him.
"Surely you had something better to walk with near at hand?"

He shrugged his shoulders, drained his glass, and wiped his fingers
carefully on a cambric handkerchief.

"Either that or my conscience," he replied, "and oddly enough, I
preferred the headache. He might have been alive today if I had had my
chocolate. Poor man!" he sighed.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, "or simply to impress me?"

He raised a hand in shocked denial.

"Pray do not believe I am so vulgar," he replied. "Yes, I wished to see
you, Henry, for two reasons. First, I was absentminded last evening. I
find I do not know the name of the gentleman with whom you had the
falling out. If you tell me--who knows--the world is small."

He waited expectantly, and I smiled at him. I had hoped he would ask me.

"You really care to know his name?"

"It might be useful," he confessed. "As I said--who knows? Perhaps we may
have something in common--some little mutual interest."

"I am sure you have," I told him. "The man I fought with was Mr.
Lawton--at my uncle's country house."

For a fraction of a second I thought he was astonished. I thought that
the look he gave was almost one of respect, but it was hard to tell.

"And you wounded him?" he asked quickly.

"I hardly think Mr. Lawton expected it," I acknowledged.

"I