will leave
the religion of humanity confidently in your hands; but I am sorry
I troubled you about such a thing as honour. Look here, my man. I do
believe in humanity. I do believe in liberty. My father died for it
under the swords of the Yeomanry. I am going to die for it, if need be,
under that sword on your counter. But if there is one sight that makes
me doubt it it is your foul fat face. It is hard to believe you were not
meant to be ruled like a dog or killed like a cockroach. Don't try your
slave's philosophy on me. We are going to fight, and we are going to
fight in your garden, with your swords. Be still! Raise your voice above
a whisper, and I run you through the body."

Turnbull put the bright point of the sword against the gay waistcoat of
the dealer, who stood choking with rage and fear, and an astonishment so
crushing as to be greater than either.

"MacIan," said Turnbull, falling almost into the familiar tone of a
business partner, "MacIan, tie up this fellow and put a gag in his
mouth. Be still, I say, or I kill you where you stand."

The man was too frightened to scream, but he struggled wildly, while
Evan MacIan, whose long, lean hands were unusually powerful, tightened
some old curtain cords round him, strapped a rope gag in his mouth and
rolled him on his back on the floor.

"There's nothing very strong here," said Evan, looking about him. "I'm
afraid he'll work through that gag in half an hour or so."

"Yes," said Turnbull, "but one of us will be killed by that time."

"Well, let's hope so," said the Highlander, glancing doubtfully at the
squirming thing on the floor.

"And now," said Turnbull, twirling his fiery moustache and fingering his
sword, "let us go into the garden. What an exquisite summer evening!"

MacIan said nothing, but lifting his sword from the counter went out
into the sun.

The brilliant light ran along the blades, filling the channels of them
with white fire; the combatants stuck their swords in the turf and took
off their hats, coats, waistcoats, and boots. Evan said a short Latin
prayer to himself, during which Turnbull made something of a parade of
lighting a cigarette which he flung away the instant after, when he saw
MacIan apparently standing ready. Yet MacIan was not exactly ready. He
stood staring like a man stricken with a trance.

"What are you staring at?" asked Turnbull. "Do you see the bobbies?"

"I see Jerusalem," said Evan, "all covered with the shields