The Admiral would have no more of it. "When did you get that, and who sent it?" he roared. The fact that the information was true was quite outweighed by the implication that an inhabitant of the Walk could have been guilty of the lowest form of treachery. "It’s signed, ’Your true Friend and Well-wisher,’" said Lord Otford, "and I had it on Sunday." The Admiral could hardly speak. "Do you mean to say that damned, anonymous, Sabbath-breaking rag came from Pomander Walk?" "I presume so." "Who sent it?" cried the Admiral, jumping up and walking to and fro in a towering rage. "Show me the white-livered scoundrel, and by Jehoshaphat! I ’ll break every bone in his body!" He turned sharply towards Otford. "Is it a man’s writing, or a woman’s?" "It’s vague: might be anybody’s." The Admiral was passing the houses of the Walk in review. "Can’t be Sternroyd—Brooke-Hoskyn—Pringle—We ’re none of us anonymous slanderers." His eye fell on the Eyesore with momentary suspicion. "Was it the Eyesore?" "The Eyesore?" repeated Lord Otford, not understanding. "That scare-crow, fishing. No; of course not. He does n’t know you, and I don’t believe he can write.—But, what of it, Jack? You’re not worried by that rubbish! Why, it’s a pack o’ lies!" (Oh, Admiral, Admiral!) Lord Otford tried to speak. "Don’t interrupt!—I’m here all the time. Nothing happens in Pomander Walk that I don’t know. Don’t interrupt!—I was here when Jack came last Saturday. He went back in his boat before you could say ’Jack Robinson,’ because Madame swooned!" He wiped his brow, and had the grace to add "Lord, forgive me!" as a silent prayer. After all, he had told no lie. He had only omitted to say how long Jack had been there before he saw him. And as he did n’t know, what could he have said? Otford found his opportunity of speaking at last. "Now, perhaps you ’ll allow me to say it’s all true," he shouted. The Admiral shouted louder. "Do you take this blackguard’s word rather than mine?" he roared, pointing to the letter. It was intolerable he should be doubted, even if he were not telling the whole truth. "You confounded old porcupine," Lord Otford roared back at him, "Jack ’s owned up to the whole thing!" "What!" yelled the Admiral. "Don’t shout like that! D’ ye want the whole Walk to hear?—Sit down. Tell me again: quietly!" "When I ’d read this letter, I taxed him with it," said Lord Otford, "and he owned up. He came here last Saturday: met the damned little French gel—" "Jack!" roared the Admiral, flaring up. "I’ll withdraw ’damned.’ Sat an hour in this infernal what-d’-ye-call-it, and thinks he ’s in love with her." Sir Peter was about to speak. "Don’t interrupt!—You know the Sayles when their blood ’s up. My blood was up. Jack’s confounded blood was up. You can imagine the scene we had. He’s as pig-headed and obstinate as—as—" "As his father," put in Sir Peter.