Battle ensued, and spectators estimated that no less than forty dollars’ worth of haberdashery was destroyed by the fury of it. The gladiators were torn apart--but not until Gibeon had enjoyed the spectacle to the full. But the spark was lighted. Rivalry had grown to jealousy; now jealousy had become hatred. In the hearts of each of these Beau Brummels burned a fire of malice.... Each was now determined, in some manner or another, to eliminate his rival. Presently George Bogardus peered through the office door and, seeing Carmel, entered, bringing with him a sartorial effulgence overpowering. He rested his malacca cane against the rail, pulled down his lavender waistcoat, straightened his tie, lifted his hat, and bowed from the waist. “Miss Lee,” he said, “aw--I say, now--d’you mind if I have a bit of a word with you. Eh? What?” “Certainly, Mr. Bogardus. What can I do for you?” “It’s private. I--aw--fawncy you wouldn’t wish to be overheard. Not by a darn sight you wouldn’t.” “Come in, then, and sit here. No one will overhear us.” He passed the gate and took the indicated chair, leaning his elbow on Carmel’s desk and pointing the tip of his long and almost prehensile nose at her most convenient ear. “Nothin’ was said in the rules of this here contest,” said he, “aw--about the character of the--aw--contestants.” “No.” “But suthin’ must ’a’ been intended. You wouldn’t want no crim’nal, nor no wife-beater, nor no--aw--person addicted to intoxicants to enter, now would you. Eh?... What?” “Naturally not.” “If a contestant was sich, what would happen?” “It would be necessary to eliminate him.” “Cheerio! What price the elimination!” “What do you mean, Mr. Bogardus?” “I mean,” said he, “there’s a feller goin’ to be eliminated doggone quick. An’ mebby go to jail to boot.” “This is rather a serious thing to say.” “Meant serious. Nobody kin claw me and git away with it. Nobody kin set up to be better dressed ’n I be, by Jove!--aw--and git away with it. I been watchin’, I have, and what I suspected I found out. And I’ll swear to it. Eh? What say? Now what, Lancelot, old dear?” “You are talking about Mr. Bangs!” “Lancelot Bangs--that’s him.” “What has he done?” “Him? What ho! Oh, I say! Blime if the bloody blighter hain’t a bootlegger!” Here George became a trifle confused in his British, but what does Gibeon know of distinctions between Whitechapel and the Hotel Cecil? Carmel was alert at once. This touched the business in hand. “A bootlegger. You mean he is selling whisky?” “Is and has been.... Hain’t bothered much with photographs for a long spell back. Makes his livin’ that way. It’s how he can afford them handsome cravats from the city.” “You’re sure?” “Take my oath to it in court. I’ve heard and saw. I’ve tasted out of a bottle.” Here was something tangible at last, a hand on a minor tentacle of the affair, but, if clung to and followed diligently, it must lead sometime to the octopus head.