But it was not for me, their Colonel, to
betray this knowledge or my feelings, and by imposing secrecy I put
off for the time all the business of a formal challenge with seconds.
So I left them, and requesting my brother to follow me, mounted to my
own room. The door was no sooner shut than I turned on him.

"Surely," I said, "this is a bad mistake of Urquhart's? It's an
incredible charge. From all I've seen of him, the lad would never be
guilty ..." I paused, expecting his assent. To my surprise he did not
give it, but stood fingering his chin and looking serious.

"I don't know," he answered unwillingly. "There are stories against
him."

"What stories?"

"Nothing definite." My brother hesitated. "It doesn't seem fair to him
to repeat mere whispers. But the others don't like him."

"Hence the whispers, perhaps. They have not reached me."

"They would not. He is known to be a favourite of yours. But they
don't care to play with him." My brother stopped, met my look, and
answered it with a shrug of the shoulders, adding, "He wins pretty
constantly."

"Any definite charge before to-night's?"

"No: at least, I think not. But Urquhart may have been put up to
watch."

"Fetch him up, please," said I promptly; and seating myself at the
writing-table I lit candles (for the lamp was dim), made ready the
writing materials and prepared to take notes of the evidence.

Mr. Urquhart presently entered, and I wheeled round in my chair to
confront him. He was still exceedingly pale--paler, I thought, than I
had left him. He seemed decidedly ill at ease, though not on his own
account. His answer to my first question made me fairly leap in my
chair.

"I wish," he said, "to qualify my accusation of Mr. Mackenzie. That he
cheated I have the evidence of my own eyes; but I am not sure how far
he knew he was cheating."

"Good heavens, sir!" I cried. "Do you know you have accused that young
man of a villainy which must damn him for life? And now you tell me--"
I broke off in sheer indignation.

"I know," he answered quietly. "The noise fetched you in upon us on
the instant, and the mischief was done."

"Indeed, sir," I could not avoid sneering, "to most of us it would
seem that the mischief was done when you accused a brother-officer of
fraud to his face."

He seemed to reflect. "Yes, sir," he assented slowly; "it is done. I
saw him cheat: that I must persist in; but I cannot say how far he was
conscious of it. And since I