You are both brethren of the sword." Barstow sniggered obsequiously and screwed his eye-glass into his eye.
"Delighted, I am sure.

But I sheathed the sword some time ago, Captain Chayne." "And exchanged it for the betting book," Chayne added, quietly.
Barstow laughed nervously.
"Oh, you refer to our little match in the garden," he said.

"We dragged the gardener into it." "So I saw," Chayne replied.

"The gardener seemed to be a remarkable shot.
I think he would be a match for more than one professional." And turning away he saw Sylvia's eyes fixed upon him, and on her face an expression of trouble and dismay so deep that he could have bitten off his tongue for speaking.

She had been behind him while he had spoken; and though he had spoken in a low voice, she had heard every word.