“What you want is a thrashing,” answered Colin, “and I’m here to give it you.” Symington’s complexion went from scarlet to grey. “What the —— do you mean by intruding here? If you don’t clear out—” His hand went up with a glitter. “Out of this, you young fool, or by—” Swish! Like a flash the whangee cane smote his knuckles. With a cry he let drop the weapon. Colin kicked it across the room. Hissing with wrath and pain, Symington sprang up and made a dash for the bell. No use! He was seized by the collar, shaken vigorously, then dragged to the table in the centre of the room, from which the dessert had not been removed. Mercilessly he was thrown across it, his face in a dish of raisins, and in that undignified position, vainly struggling, he received a most painful chastisement. Often afterwards Colin, whose weight and muscle were nothing exceptional, would wonder how on earth he had managed to handle successfully a heavy man like Symington; but love and hate combined with honest rage gave him, for the time being, the strength of three, and moreover his victim was flabby after a long debauch. The noise of the caning coupled with the involuntary exclamations of the sufferer were, however, not long in attracting attention, and a knock on the door warned Colin that it was time to desist. Putting his whole heart into a final cut, which brought forth a yelp of anguish, he loosed his grip, saying rather breathlessly— “That is the reply to your anonymous notes, Mr. Symington, and if you want to call the police now, pray do so.” A waiter, mouth open, was staring from the doorway. Symington stood up, his expression devilish. He had a fruit knife in his hand—a frail, pretty thing, yet pointed. He lunged at his enemy’s face. Again the cane swished, and the knife fell to the floor. “Gentlemen,” gasped the waiter. “Well?” inquired Colin. “Is it to be the police?” “Damn you! Get out of this! I’ll make you sorrier than any police judge could do.” “Very well,” said Colin, turning to the door. “In the meantime,” he added, over his shoulder, “if I were you, I’d get the waiter to remove the raisins from your chin and left eyebrow.” With that, perhaps the unkindest cut of all, he went out, leaving Symington almost beside himself with passion. As for the waiter, the unfortunate creature was so tactless as to smile at the raisins, and two days later he was dismissed from the hotel service. As soon as he reached the street, Colin realized that he was shaking all over. “What a rage I must have been in!” he said to himself, half gladly, half ruefully. “Well, I guess he won’t trouble Kitty again, and I don’t see how he’s going to get at me.”