"Here are your two pins, Senhor," he said, flinging them with infinite scorn at Crowberry's feet. "Now give me my damned good hiding." He fell back two paces with his left arm raised in guard and his right fist clenched to return blow for blow. But Mr. Crowberry did not take up the challenge. He blenched; blinked; gasped; smirked; edged away; and finally blurted out peevishly: "Leave the room. Go out of my office at once." Antonio brushed him aside and stepped into the street. His heart was still hot with anger, and he still smarted under the insults. With long strides he hastened mechanically along Piccadilly towards Apsley House, which had come to be his favorite walk. But he had hardly reached the old French Embassy when there was a turmoil behind him, and voices crying "Stop!" He turned round and saw Mr. Crowberry's office-boy and one of the junior clerks. "Mr. Crowb'ry, 'e ses will yer come back at once." "Did Mr. Crowberry say nothing else?" "No, sir." "Tell Mr. Crowberry I shall be in Hyde Park, just inside the arch beyond the palace of the Duke of Wellington. I shall not wait longer than twelve o'clock." At five minutes before noon Mr. Crowberry dashed into the Park upon a bony bay hack, hurriedly hired at the nearest mews. The ride had sobered him: and, at the sight of his honest shamefacedness, Antonio's wrath and pride broke down into love and pity. He helped his chief to alight: and at the mere touch of hands both men knew that they were reconciled. "It was brandy," said Crowberry very humbly. "I'm glad to hear it," Antonio answered. "If I thought it was wine I'd never help to make or sell another drop as long as I live." "Of course I apologize," added the merchant awkwardly. "It's all over and done with," said Antonio. "Let us forget it and speak of other matters." "Quite so," agreed Crowberry. "But there's just one point. Don't offer to fight me when I'm sober. English fists strike hard." "And there's just one point more," retorted Antonio genially but with conviction. "Don't offer to fight me when I'm drunk. Portuguese fists strike harder. Now let me tell you my plan." Mr. Crowberry insisted that the plan should not be unfolded until they were sitting at meat at his club; and, on the clear understanding that nothing should be drunk beyond a bottle of Bordeaux and some soda-water, Antonio accepted the invitation. Across a thoroughly English leg of lamb, with green peas, new potatoes and mint sauce, Antonio expounded his designs. He started from the fact that Royalty's house-managers were treating the firm of Castro with thoroughgoing selfishness. He went on to say that when kings and queens, with incomes of half a million pounds a year, were unscrupulous in guarding their own convenience, it was high time that Senhor Castro, who had only been lifted out of imminent bankruptcy by the strong hand of Mr. Crowberry, should obtain his just due.