A man in pyjamas on a raw morning does not feel at this bravest, and Dickson quailed under the expectation of assault.

But even in his fright he realized that Loudon could not have told Dobson the tale of the half-witted lady.

The last remark had cut clean through all camouflage and reached the quick.
"What the hell d'ye mean ?" he cried.

"Ye're a spy, are ye?
Ye fat little fool, for two cents I'd wring your neck." Now it is an odd trait of certain mild people that a suspicion of threat, a hint of bullying, will rouse some unsuspected obstinacy deep down in their souls.

The insolence of the man's speech woke a quiet but efficient little devil in Dickson.
"That's a bonny tone to adopt in addressing a gentleman.