My engaging friend here has--an I mistake not--a passport ready for me in the pocket of his sable-hued coat, and as we are hoping effectually to spit one another over there...

gadzooks! but there's the specific purpose....

Is it not true, sir," he added, turning once more to Chauvelin, "that in the pocket of that exquisitely cut coat of yours, you have a passport--name in blank perhaps--which you had specially designed for me ?" It was so carelessly, so pleasantly said, that no one save Chauvelin guessed the real import of Sir Percy's words.

Chauvelin, of course, knew their inner meaning: he understood that Blakeney wished to convey to him the fact that he was well aware that the whole scene to-night had been prearranged, and that it was willingly and with eyes wide open that he walked into the trap which the revolutionary patriot had so carefully laid for him.
"The passport will be forthcoming in due course, sir," retorted Chauvelin evasively, "when our seconds have arranged all formalities." "Seconds be demmed, sir," rejoined Sir Percy placidly, "you do not propose, I trust, that we travel a whole caravan to France." "Time, place and conditions must be settled, Sir Percy," replied Chauvelin; "you are too accomplished a cavalier, I feel sure, to wish to arrange such formalities yourself." "Nay! neither you nor I, Monsieur...

er...