“We begin at ten o’clock. Not an instant before.” “Very good, if you prefer it. By the way, Sir Charles, where is your man?” “I would ask _you_ that question, Sir Lothian,” answered my uncle. “Where is my man?” A look of astonishment passed over Sir Lothian’s features, which, if it were not real, was most admirably affected. “What do you mean by asking me such a question?” “Because I wish to know.” “But how can I tell, and what business is it of mine?” “I have reason to believe that you have made it your business.” “If you would kindly put the matter a little more clearly there would be some possibility of my understanding you.” They were both very white and cold, formal and unimpassioned in their bearing, but exchanging glances which crossed like rapier blades. I thought of Sir Lothian’s murderous repute as a duellist, and I trembled for my uncle. “Now, sir, if you imagine that you have a grievance against me, you will oblige me vastly by putting it into words.” “I will,” said my uncle. “There has been a conspiracy to maim or kidnap my man, and I have every reason to believe that you are privy to it.” An ugly sneer came over Sir Lothian’s saturnine face. “I see,” said he. “Your man has not come on quite as well as you had expected in his training, and you are hard put to it to invent an excuse. Still, I should have thought that you might have found a more probable one, and one which would entail less serious consequences.” “Sir,” answered my uncle, “you are a liar, but how great a liar you are nobody knows save yourself.” Sir Lothian’s hollow cheeks grew white with passion, and I saw for an instant in his deep-set eyes such a glare as comes from the frenzied hound rearing and ramping at the end of its chain. Then, with an effort, he became the same cold, hard, self-contained man as ever. “It does not become our position to quarrel like two yokels at a fair,” said he; “we shall go further into the matter afterwards.” “I promise you that we shall,” answered my uncle, grimly. “Meanwhile, I hold you to the terms of your wager. Unless you produce your nominee within five-and-twenty minutes, I claim the match.” “Eight-and-twenty minutes,” said my uncle, looking at his watch. “You may claim it then, but not an instant before.” He was admirable at that moment, for his manner was that of a man with all sorts of hidden resources, so that I could hardly make myself realize as I looked at him that our position was really as desperate as I knew it to be. In the meantime Berkeley Craven, who had been exchanging a few words with Sir Lothian Hume, came back to our side. “I have been asked to be sole referee in this matter,” said he. “Does that meet with your wishes, Sir Charles?” “I should be vastly obliged to you, Craven, if you will undertake the duties.” “And Jackson has been suggested as timekeeper.” “I could not wish a better one.” “Very good. That is settled.”