I also have knowledge of certain other matters regarding one Richard Hobson, alias Dick Carroll, and his London adventures." Hobson's face had become a livid hue, and Scott detected a sudden movement of his right hand towards his desk.
"None of that!" he cried, warningly, at the same time springing quickly upon him with two well-aimed blows, one of which knocked a revolver from Hobson's hand, while the other deposited him in a heap upon the floor.

While the latter was recovering from the effect of the stunning blow he had received, Scott picked up the revolver and, having examined it, slipped it into his pocket, saying,-- "I will keep this for a while as a souvenir of our interview.

It may be needed as evidence later." Hobson crawled to his feet and stood cowering abjectly before Scott, rage written on every lineament of his face, but not daring to give it expression.
"Who in the devil are you, anyway ?" he growled.
"That is none of your business whatever," Scott replied, seizing him by the collar and dragging him to the door.

"The only thing for you to do is to unlock that door as expeditiously as possible, asking no questions and making no comments." With trembling fingers the wretch complied, and Scott, still retaining his hold upon his collar, reached the door of the outer room, where, with a final shake, he released him.
"Wait a moment," Hobson whispered, eagerly, half-paralyzed with fear, while his eyes gleamed with malign hatred.

"You've got no hold on me by anything I've said, and you've no proof of that Carroll business, either." Scott looked at him an instant with silent contempt.