I've been trailing you, you scoundrel, and I want
to know what kind of a game you're playing."

A spot of red spread on Roger's cheekbones. In spite of his apparent
demureness he had a pugnacious spirit and a quick fist.

"By the bones of Charles Lamb!" he said. "Young man, your manners need
mending. If you're looking for display advertising, I'll give you one
on each eye."

Aubrey had expected to find a cringing culprit, and this back talk
infuriated him beyond control.

"You damned little bolshevik," he said, "if you were my size I'd give
you a hiding. You tell me what you and your pro-German pals are up to
or I'll put the police on you!"

Roger stiffened. His beard bristled, and his blue eyes glittered.

"You impudent dog," he said quietly, "you come round the corner where
these people can't see us and I'll give you some private tutoring."

He led the way round the corner of the alley. In this narrow channel,
between blank walls, they confronted each other.

"In the name of Gutenberg," said Roger, calling upon his patron saint,
"explain yourself or I'll hit you."

"Who's he?" sneered Aubrey. "Another one of your Huns?"

That instant he received a smart blow on the chin, which would have
been much harder but that Roger misgauged his footing on the uneven
cobbles, and hardly reached the face of his opponent, who topped him by
many inches.

Aubrey forgot his resolution not to hit a smaller man, and also calling
upon his patron saints--the Associated Advertising Clubs of the
World--he delivered a smashing slog which hit the bookseller in the
chest and jolted him half across the alley.

Both men were furiously angry--Aubrey with the accumulated bitterness
of several days' anxiety and suspicion, and Roger with the
quick-flaming indignation of a hot-tempered man unwarrantably outraged.
Aubrey had the better of the encounter in height, weight, and more than
twenty years juniority, but fortune played for the bookseller.
Aubrey's terrific punch sent the latter staggering across the alley
onto the opposite curb. Aubrey followed him up with a rush, intending
to crush the other with one fearful smite. But Roger, keeping cool,
now had the advantage of position. Standing on the curb, he had a
little the better in height. As Aubrey leaped at him, his face grim
with hatred, Roger met him with a savage buffet on the jaw. Aubrey's
foot struck against the curb, and he fell backward onto the stones.
His head cr