"Years ago, my lord," answered the colonel grimly. "this man and I were in France together. We quarrelled concerning a slip of a girl; he professed to mislike my methods of dealing with her and laid his cane across my cheek in public. When I cried for satisfaction he refused, saying he did not measure swords with a bully. He is a swordsman, curse him; it was useless to brand him as a coward; I had no redress. That was twelve years ago. I feel the stroke of his cane on my cheek again to-night and here at last is a salve to the bruise. I’ve watched and waited, knowing that my chance would come, and now at last he is in my power. No, my lord, crowns will be of no avail; he shall be tried at sunrise to-morrow, and shot like a dog at noon." Throughout this speech the colonel’s tone had grown ever louder, and as he uttered the last words with a savage ferocity, the door opened, and Captain Protheroe walked into the room. "Hullo! colonel, another victim?" he exclaimed. "Who is the wretched devil who is to be shovelled out of the world so speedily?" There was deep silence. Captain Protheroe gazed round in astonishment at the circle of grave faces, all turned eagerly towards him. Only Lord Jeffreys gave a sudden short laugh, as he lay back in his chair and watched the scene. For he loved to watch human comedies, if tragedy lurked behind them. Then Colonel Kirke spoke: "Captain Protheroe, you are under arrest. You will give your sword to Captain Harrington, and accompany him at once to the guard-house. I refuse your parole." The Captain faced the speaker in astonishment. "I! Arrested! What devil’s foolishness is this?" he cried. "On what charge?" "Set a watch on your words," answered Kirke shortly. "You are charged with connivance at the escape of a noted rebel, Sir Rupert Winslow." Captain Protheroe started. So there was ground after all for the accusation; it was no imaginary charge, easy to refute; it was a serious affair, an affair he saw well that might cost him dear. He hesitated a moment, then: "I claim at least to have the matter referred to the General," he said resolutely. Neither Churchill nor Feversham, he knew well, would be severe upon him. "You are at present under my command, Captain Protheroe," answered Kirke shortly. "You will be tried by me. Captain Harrington, remove your prisoner." The Colonel had risen to his feet, and for a full minute the two men faced each other in silence. Then Captain Protheroe smiled. He knew his enemy’s inveterate hatred, he read the full significance of that glance. And yet he smiled. It was too simple, too obvious. Not a man in that room, he knew well, but had been guilty a dozen times of the same breach of duty as that of which he stood accused, yet they went free, unpunished, while for himself he saw well there would be no mercy. The malice was too palpable, he laughed in his enemy’s face.