The hit was greeted by an offensive laugh of exultation by the thrower,
with a gasp of subdued rage by the receiver of the spinous missile, and
by the rest of the company with various indications of apprehensive
curiosity.
"Now," murmured Peckover through his teeth, "we're going to see
something."
An Englishman, under the same circumstances, would probably have picked
up the weighty fruit and returned the shot. Not so the little
Castilian, whose dignity was in no direct ratio to his inches. Quickly
recovering from the discomposing impact, and forcing his sinister
features as far into a smile as his mental attitude would allow, he
bowed ceremoniously, although the full effect of the salutation was
somewhat marred by the fact that, following close on the shot, it had
rather the appearance of a doubling-up caused by physical derangement.
However, he presently straightened himself and regarded the party with
comparative, if delusive, serenity.
"Your excellencies are pleased to be merry to-night," he observed, in a
tone which seemed to promise a speedy end to the merriment.
The duke now addressed himself to Mr. Leo. "Your grace is an admirable
shot," he observed pleasantly. "If, that is, my poor person was chosen
as the mark for your grace's aim." Then suddenly changing his manner
from the courteous to the terrific, till he became five feet three of
incarnate bristling, scintillating ferocity, he added, "I too, as I
shall hope soon to convince your grace, am a tolerable shot, although
not with articles of dessert."
The pug-dogged look of aggressive impudence faded from Carnaby's face,
giving way to an expression of foolish discomfiture. Nevertheless he
replied, with a not too convincing nod of assurance. "All right, my
prime bantam, I'll show you something."
But for the moment all he showed his challenger was his back as he
turned and walked to the other end of the table, where he grabbed up a
fistful of cigars.
"Who," asked the duke, suddenly polite again, "may I inquire, is this
distinguished gentleman?"
For reasons best known to himself the distinguished gentleman seemed
inclined to let the question of his identity remain in suspense rather
than hold further communication with the questioner. Apparently he was
too deeply engrossed in lighting one of his raided cigars to notice the
query.
But here the ever-alert Peckover saw and seized his opportunity. With
a pantomime of mystery he called the duke aside.
"That's him; Lord Quorn. The real man and no mistake," he said rapidly
under his breath, "Calls himself Leo, for private reasons, you
understand. Threatens to kill us if we give him away."
"Oho! So?" The duke turned an ominously interested eye on the latest
idea of the interloping nobleman, his mind, meanwhile, rapidly running
over the probabilities of the case. Mr. Leo, having recovered from his
late upset by the aid of a bumper of old port wine, was now lounging
against the mantel-piece with that easy air of proprietorship which
stature and muscle coupled with low brain power are apt to give. He
might, indeed, have fitted in very well just then with a foreigner's
idea of a bucolic English milord, and as such his appearance commended
him to the ferocious Spaniard's purpose. The Duke glanced searchingly
at his informant, however, as though determined to make certain before
turning his polite attentions to the new candidate for a thrill.
"Why did your excellencies one after another call yourselves milord
Quorn?" he demanded pertinently.
"We had to. He made us," was the ready answer. "Says he'll twist the
neck of any man who calls him Lord Quorn."
The duke received the information with a grim elevation of his thick
eyebrows. "So? We shall see. But Miss Buffkin?" he asked sharply.
"There is nothing between them?"
Peckover made a grimace which might be understood to signify amusement
at the suggestion. "Isn't there?" he replied, "when she is brought up
here every day to see him. That's why he's keeping himself dark," he
added slyly. "There's another lady in the question; see? And he's all
for Buffkin."
A roar came from the fireplace. "What are you mumping about there, you
little rats? Speak up, and let's hear all about it before I shake it
out of you. I've got my say to finish when you've done croaking."
The muttered conference therefore ceased. Peckover resumed his seat,
and the duke turned and regarded Carnaby with an attention which was
doubtless somewhat irritating to that sensitive gentleman.
"What are you staring at, smallbones?" he demanded fiercely as though
lashing himself into a fury to counteract the effect of the Salolja
eye. "When fools stare at me I scoop their eyes out to teach 'em
better manners."
The duke accepted the interesting statement with a bow. "Yes?" he
responded appreciatively.
"Yes, I do," maintained Mr. Leo savagely. "I'm a man, as I've been
telling these scallywags, who stands no nonsense."
Again the duke bowed. "I applaud your grace," he said.
A horrible suspicion that he was being laughed at seemed to take hold
of the doughty Mr. Leo. "You applaud my grace, do you?" he cried,
forcing his voice into a sneering squeak. "Who asked for your
halfpenny opinion? You keep your sauce to stew that over-grown nose in
when I've pulled it off."
For an instant, at the dire insult, there was a flash of murder in the
duke's eyes. Then, with an air of storing up what he had received for
cumulative repayment he inquired softly, with his eternal bow, "I have
the distinguished honour of addressing milord Quorn?"
"You're an undersized liar," was the somewhat pointed reply.
"I think not," rejoined the duke confidently, "although it will be my
duty to remember that your grace has called me one. Lord Quorn----"
"My name's Leo!" came with a roar.
"I believe not," insisted the duke.
"Lord Quorn! I'd like to catch him!" cried Carnaby.
The duke smiled indulgently, yet with a homicidal preoccupation. "I
believe," he said coolly, "I have had the good fortune to catch him."
"Where is the skunk?" demanded Mr. Leo, with a noticeable falling off
in the volume of his tone. It was clear that his opponent's
steadfastness was beginning to tell.
"May I ask," observed the duke, "as a favour, that your grace will not
make so much noise, but will accord your most humble servant the
supreme privilege of saying a few words to you?" His voice had begun
to come out in bursts, in the fashion which had created such a
disagreeable effect on Gage and Peckover at the first interview.
Mr. Leo, inclined to wilt, made yet a gallant effort to pull himself
together. "If you want to jaw," he replied with scarcely equal
courtesy, "go into the next room and jaw your jaw off. You won't spoil
your beauty, for plain reasons. I'm getting sick of you. You spoil
the flavour of this cigar."
"I intend to," was the hardly expected retort. "Although it is a pity,
as it is possibly the last your grace will ever smoke."
The dark eyes were now fixed on his grace with all their scorching
ferocity. Mr. Leo looked as though the cigar or something else had
indeed disagreed with him. The three spectators of the duel wanted
only the sense of complete personal immunity to enjoy it hugely.
"I have not the honour of knowing," proceeded the little Spaniard,
holding the big bully in his best rattlesnake fashion, "whether your
grace is aware that I am the Duke of Salolja, and a Grandee of Spain,
the present and, alas, unworthy representative of the noble house of
Salolja, a family which has preserved its traditions and its honour
intact from time immemorial."
The effect of the announcement on Mr. Carnaby Leo was not quite
apparent, except that he seemed in two minds whether to crunch up his
diminutive opponent or to give way to abject terror. "What's all that
to me?" he returned, in a voice that seemed to be getting rather out of
control.
The duke shrugged. "It is customary," he explained, "in my country,
that in affairs of honour strict punctilio should be maintained.
Further, I wish to do myself the honour of informing your grace that my
family, the Saloljas, have never permitted an injury or an insult to
pass unavenged."
"Same with me," responded Mr. Leo, addressing himself, however,
possibly for convenience' sake, to the men at the table.
"It is," pursued the duke, intensifying his steady glare, "a matter of
felicitation that our sentiments agree upon the point. But enough. I
come, as you British say, to business. I have the honour to be the
aggrieved party. Your grace is probably aware that I purpose to ally
myself matrimonially with Miss Ulrica Buffkin?"
The apparent irrelevance of the observation prompted Mr. Leo to pluck
up a little courage. "No," he answered with a touch of his old manner,
"I don't know, and I don't care."
"So?" The little man steadied his rage by tugging at his portentous
moustache. "Your grace refuses then to recognize my pretensions?" he
demanded menacingly.
Mr. Leo gave a stupid laugh. "You don't," he retorted with clumsy
humour, "expect me to take off my hat to them, do you?"
The duke accepted the defiance with a bow. "Perhaps not," he returned
viciously. "So we will leave that affair for the present. It may be
we shall never arrive so far together. There are, happily, other
matters which have the precedence."
"What are you mumbling about?" Mr. Leo inquired with characteristic
politeness.
"As I entered the room," continued the duke, ignoring the interruption,
"I was struck on the--breast by a pine-apple thrown by your grace. Is
it not so?"
Mr. Leo forced a laugh. "Didn't see you coming," he explained weakly.
The duke drew back a pace with every indication of astonishment. "Is
it possible then," he demanded severely, "that your grace asks me to
believe that you scatter fruit about your room for amusement?"
"Sometimes," Carnaby replied uncomfortably.
His tormentor waved aside the answer as frivolous.
"Subsequently to that blow which only blood can efface," he resumed
impressively, laying his hand on the spot where the shot took effect,
"your grace was pleased to distinguish my poor self by certain
opprobrious remarks and designations, in the hearing of these
honourable gentlemen. Your grace permitted yourself to allude
disrespectfully to my stature. Your grace will understand that the
character and deeds of the Saloljas are not measured by inches," he
added proudly.
"Glad to hear it," Mr. Leo growled rashly.
"Your grace was further led," proceeded the duke, raising his voice
ominously, "to speak in unbecoming terms of my opinion and of my nose.
It is a matter of regret that my judgment and my features do not meet
with your grace's approval, but it is the judgment and it is the nose
with which Heaven has been pleased to endow my poor self, and up to the
present the noble house of Salolja has had no serious cause of
complaint against Heaven in respect to its gifts."
Mr. Leo tried to give sign of amusement, but the laugh stuck somewhere,
and did not reach the surface.
"Your grace," the little demon went on, "also took upon yourself to
cast an aspersion on my veracity. A Salolja," he continued with
pompous dignity, "does not lie. No Salolja has cause to lie. Pride is
truth. Lying is for slaves and shopkeepers. Now when a man insults me
it is something to pay for, when in my person he insults the most noble
family of Salolja it is everything. He shall pay with the last drop of
his blood."
The somewhat one-sided conversation was evidently making for a climax.
The interest of the three men had become breathless. Mr. Leo,
literally and metaphorically with his back to the wall, realized that
his reputation was about to be put to the touch; also that he was, all
things considered, in a somewhat parlous situation. His dull brain
became obsessed by a lively regret that he had addressed his diminutive
adversary in terms which were conspicuous by their disregard for the
noble duke's personal dignity. Still something had now to be done. He
must assert himself and at once. The instinct of the coward and the
bully wrestled sharply within him. But the promptings of fear were not
to be followed, since retreat dignified or otherwise, was out of the
question The tricks of his old trade were the only resource left him,
and so he was forced blindly to fall back on them.