I shall die to-night." Falconer eyed him intently, and carefully selected a fresh cigar.

When he had as carefully lit it, he said callously: "That's your business, of course.

I shouldn't venture to interfere with any plan of that kind.

So you'd sneak out of it, eh, Orme?
Sneak out of it, and leave that young fellow to bear the brunt?
Well, I'm sorry for him! He seems the right sort--deuced good-looking and high-class--yes, I'm d----d sorry for him!" Once again Sir Stephen's lips twitched and the big drops of sweat stood on his brow.

He stood for a minute looking from right to left like a hunted animal at bay--then with something between a groan and a cry of savagery, he spring towards Falconer with his hands outstretched and making for his tormentor's throat.
Before he could sweep the table aside and get at him, Falconer whipped a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Sir Stephen.
"You fool!" he said in his harsh, grating voice, "did you think I was such an idiot as to trust myself alone with you unarmed?
Did you think I'd forgotten what sort of man you were, or imagined that you'd so changed that I could trust you?
Bah! Sit down! Stand back, or, by Heaven, I'll shoot you as I would a dog!" Sir Stephen shrank back, his hand to his heart, his eyes distended, his face livid as if he were choking and sank into a chair.